La Madrugada que no Sale

I walk.  Hours upon hours of walking. I've gotten lost so many times that I just don't care anymore.  The streets on the map all blend together in an impossible maze leaving me frustrated and lost. The rain is on and off, my shoes are soaked along with my socks that have now turned into saturated sponges.  My feet ache from the cobblestone and miles of trecking through the city to try to see at least one procession.  It's around 10:30pm and I find myself at a church in an area void of life in what seems to be no longer Seville.  I sit in the corner, put down my umbrella and soak in the rain reflecting on my day: 2 missed trains, 1 full train, rain, no processions, lost, hungry, alone, soaked, limping from pain.  The rain falls harder and harder and as a cruel fate blasts down on the earth flooding it.  I take cover under the church but I still get wet from it bouncing off of the street.  I sit there and stare into the darkness.

The rain calms down and I leave my spot on the church and I decide to continue on my journey to wherever I was going.  My map is useless and I have no idea where I am in the city. Right.  Right must be the right way.  I walk down a lit narrow street alone with only the sound of my wet shoes scuffing against the cobblestone.  A hooded man appears in the distance, a nazareno.  Soon I see more and more until I find a whole plaza full of them.  Half have their hoods on, the other carry them in their arms.  Families kiss them as they walk under a big banner into the back of a church.  I continue.  The sky clears up and the rain stops.  I see a huge crowd.  Could it be? A procession?  I look up into the night sky and see that some clouds have dissapeared.  The church itself had a picture of the Virgen on it...of Esperanza...Could this be?! I continue and pass a bar; la Macarena.  I don't know how it happened but I ended up at THE most iconic and famous procession of all of Holy Week of Seville: La Madrugada with la Macarena.  I find a spot amongst the crowd right in front of the church.  It's beautiful!  There is a huge black iron gate that guards the illumated chruch.  People stand around waiting in anticipation, praying the rain doesn't return.

The kids in front of me all have one ear phone in, carefully listening to information regarding the processions.  They joke and laugh and talk about Holy Week and describe what everything means and fight over what the number of feathers on a Roman soldier's hat signifies.  I look at my watch, 23:00.  there is still an hour left yet the street is packed behind me.  Hundreds and hundreds of people are behind me.  The French couple next to me talk about the Roman soldier changing in the window, the lady behind me is blowing at the clouds to make them dissapear.  She popped them by accident and a canopy of umbrellas sprung up covering the crowd.  Seconds later it stops: "Que no llueve! No está lloviendo" (a call from the kid next to me to put away the umbrellas).  And with that the umbrellas dissapear.  I hear drums in the distance along with trumpets and cornets.  Behind me through the sea of people marches Roman soldiers with huge white feathers in their helmets.  They march up to the gate, pass through, and cheers spring out from the crowd and break the tense air. "Seguro que sale" says a man next to me, sure that the Macarena with go on route.  We wait some more, and more and more.

Canopy of umbrellas.  The rain pounds on the plasticky material above our heads.  I look back at a lady with tears in her eyes.  Could I have hit her with my umbrella? No.  I don't think so.  "No está lloviendo" shouts the kid next to me again as the rain still pounds from above.  The crowd burst out laughing.  Sure enough it stops again and the umbrellas get put away.  11:50pm comes around and the guy next me says the another procession El Silencio "no sale" or will not march.  Everyone in our are looks at him intently as he listens to his ear bud.  "El Silencio y el Gran Poder" The crowd gets antsy.  10 mintues pass as the Roman soldiers still stand at the door.  5 minutes....

Claps.  "La Macarena no sale" says the man listening to his ear bud to my left informing everyone that there will be no procession.  Everone claps in dispair.  I hear a sob and think someone is joking but then see the girl huddled against the guard rail with another girl rubbing her back to comfort her.  I look back at the girl with the tear in her eye who now has tears streaming down her face.  A man to my right tried to hide his red eyes and wipe away his tears as he sobbed quietly next to me.  Cries peak out through the crowd, surrounding me "ABRE LA PUERTA!" (Open the door shouts a lady far away in a tearful shout) Several women shout this until the door opens revealing the beatuiful lit up image of la Macarena.  "GUAPA! GUAPA!" the crowd shouts in unisen. "GUAPA!!!!" hundreds of people shouting how beautiful she is through their sobs.  The prosession breaks up and the officials walk back through the gate: men and boys crying.  The crowd disperses behind me.  A man has fainting and another one catches him.  I stare at his frozen face and blank eyes as they stare into the darkness.  I stare at the watering eyes of everyone around me.  I listen to the cries and yells of mourning women and my hair stands on end as everyone mourns the Madrugada que no sale.

Divine intervention

To all my blog readers out there:
I am not a religious person.  Although Semana Santa is my heart and my soul I don't really agree with much of the politics and economics of the Catholic Church.  I've been through phases of devout Catholicism to the core but yet find myself more and more agnostic...I'm not going to preach to you one way or the other because religion is a confusing and controversial topic and to be honest I don't even know where I stand.  I don't even want to know where I stand.  But let me tell you about this past week.

The weather channel has said everyday that it is supposed to rain.  I wake up in the morning greeted by cloudy and drizily skies.  All looks lost until 4:00pm rolls around and the first processions are going to start.  While the brotherhoods are worrying about cancelling the procession in order to avoid ruining the clothes and float that costs thousands upon thousands of dollars, the sky magically clears up.  I'm not talking about the rain stopping either, I mean the clouds part and blue sky pops through.  This has happened everyday of Holy Week.

This morning I was headed to Seville.  Key word: was.  My alarm never went off so I woke up ONE MINUTE after my train left.  Weird coincidence I guess.  I looked up times and noticed the the next train didn't leave until 11:30.  I walked down to the train station, getting soaked by the rain and a breaking umbrella.  I waiting in the long line and just as I was about to get a replacement ticket (I was next in line), a man came out of the backroom and asked if I was going to Seville.  I looked at him surprised and said yes and he informed me along with everyone else in line that the train was completely full.  Another slap in the face by fate.  I got my ticket for the 3pm train and sadly sulked home, dissapointed and frustrated.  Dampened by the rain, I entered the house, discouraged and called to cancel my reservations for my hotel since it is suppose to rain all week and the floats don't happen if it rains.  Unfortunately today and tomorrow are official holidays so I cannot call anyone to cancel the reservations....I'm lucky I know.

I hang up, upset, and Lola walks in the door, the sister of my host mother.  She talks to me about her religious experiences and about how she wore the same dress with the same veil every day for a year in order to get better.  She talked about the women who wear the chains, about her olive branch, and about her Catholic faith.  She left after a bit and Noni approached me after seeing my interest in Lola for my project and asked if I would like to speak with a very close friend of hers who is a nun.  An 80 and some odd year old nun who talks for hours upon hours....As she said this light poured through the window and I later came to find out the rain had stopped from this morning.  It's really weird how things have been working out this week.  Everything seems to go wrong but then just falls into place.  The other API kids are noticing it too.

Could this be divine intervention? Coincidence? Fate?  All I know is that everything happens for a reason and today my ideology pulled through.  Wish me luck in Seville...I'll be there until Easter.  Leaving you with one of my favorite pictures as I rush to finish this before I miss my third train.

The Silent Pass

I lean up against the wall in complete darkness.  To my left silently stands a man in his mid twenties:  His shadowy figure leans up against the same wall inches from my shoulder but so quiet I cannot even hear him breathe.  To my right is another man in his mid twenties but he is holding his girlfriend and whispering a song into her ear as they constantly move around in their playful game of try-to-kiss-me.  Their whispering echoes off the dark walls and cobblestone as hundreds of people wait in the narrow street.  At the end of the road I see flickering lights: the short flames of candles.  Tall men dressed in black robes lurk in their procession, some barefoot, without a footstep being heard. Their faces are covered by black cloth as well with two small holes for their eyes.  It reaches up into the night sky in the shape of a tall and thin black cone.  Dozens of these black shadows float in their procession guided by the faint light of their candles.  Further down I can see more light and a figure illuminated by a float of candles.  A tall wooden post stands in the middle covered by a dying figure.  His hands are nailed into another piece of wood horizontally attached to the one in the middle that stands surrounded by candle sticks that curve and fall like four golden willow trees.  I can see the pain in his face and the blood on his body as his figure sways back and forth on the golden float slowly down the street.  Incense fills the air along with the soft sound of a clarinet breaking through the night sky.  The shuffling of feet echo through the street as the huddled group of men -hidden by the velvet cloth of the float- carry the massive image on their shoulders.   It passes by inches from my face.  This mammoth float towers over me and I can only look up at the dying man, smell the incense, and hear the melancholy music break through the silence of the night.  

Something Cádiz doesn't have

It's summer time and the warm breeze weaves its way through the green leaves clinging to the branches, happily dancing through the dusk that has started to fall over this small country town. Green. The color of the leaves and the grass and the vines and the stems. The color of life and blissfulness of New England summers before the chill of autumn takes away all that is cheerful. From the green comes a noise. A high-pitch trill. A guttural chant vibrating through the now cool summer air. Another trill sounds in the distance, and another from a tree close by. With the light dimming, the chorus of the tree frogs takes over the night until their polyphonic song can be the only thing heard. The green disappears as the light fades away, making its journey out to the Pacific. The shadows of the trees and leaves grow and grow eating the light until all that remains is the glowing moon and sparkling suns far far away. A flash of light dots its way around the yard, floating around the sleeping leaves. Soon the stars have reached earth and waltz through my garden to the tune of the chorus anurarum. As night takes over the stars fly away and the summer night song stops to fall asleep with the leaves and the stars. Silence.

The little black line

Click click click…Floppy the house dog walks buy, stops to stare at me, and continues on his journey to the kitchen.  I follow him until he gets annoyed and growls at me to go away. Normal I guess. I go fetch a blanket even though I don’t really need it. 

Click click click…I stop.  I stare at the screen blankly.  I stare at the white center that is sprinkled with little black lines of nonsense bordered by Microsoft-Word-blue. I stare at the blinking black cursor and count its beats. One, two, three: the constant pounding rhythm that creates or destroys new letters, the link from my mind to the white screen in front of me.  The beat remains constant.  I stare until I break away from the entrancing flashing line to look around the room. 

As I look at the stain on the tablecloth I still see the blinking of the cursor in my peripherals.  It taunts me.  I look over to Javi and his computer which happens to be on Tuenti.  He is looking at pictures of a girl; normal I guess.  Elena is her name.  I look as he clicks through the pictures: one, two, five, twelve.  I notice the cursor blinking in an empty box.  It has jumped computers calling my name.  I look back at the laptop in front of me with the little black line still blinking at me; angrily. Yelling at me. 

“To be completely honest with you, little black line, I am not interested in intercultural mediation in the sphere of education in the Spanish schooling system.  I am not a fan of twenty page essays.  It does not please me to write about a topic that is completely monotonous and void of life, just like you little black line.  You have been taunting me the past five days and I have had enough!”

Click, click, click…blink, blink, blink…click, click, BACKSPACE, BACKSPACE, BACKSPACE. I start to get aggravated.  A warm feeling surges up from my chest into my head and up into my eyes.  “Five days and this is all I can get done? I don’t even understand what the point of this essay is.  What does this have to do with linguistics? What is linguistics? What is cultural mediation? What is the goal of this essay? I don’t even know what I’m arguing!”

Blink blink blink.  My legs are hot from the computer sitting on my lap.  “Should I get up for some more cookies and milk? No.  I’m gaining too much weight. I’m not actually hungry.  Boredom and frustration:  I need to eat it away.  Oprah does that.  She’s an emotional eater.” (I get up for cookies). 

Munch munch munch.  For that one minute of pure bliss, the warm feeling leaves my head and the angry void gets filled with floury and sugary goodness.  I return to the couch feeling much more relaxed and sit back down next to Javi. Floppy walks by again.  I begin typing once again at a fast pace: one sentence, two, three, a paragraph…Blink, blink, blink…   

Barcelona: A Gothic Candy Land

We started in the Metro, a transfer from the airport to the train, to the green line 2, to yellow line 4, down 2 blocks, to the right, then to the left. The trams were well worn and the stops varied from leaking and bare to beautiful and clean.  Walking down the miles of subterranean roads you cross a couple people playing instruments and singing, and even on the metro itself an accordion player or two isn't that rare.  A German family gave us their day passes since they were flying back home which saved Sara, Chelsea and me 18€ for the first day, thank you very much.

I can only explain Barcelona as a weird but wonderful mix between New York, Paris, and Candy Land.  It's a world outside of the typical-Spanish realm.  In fact the official language in Barcelona isn't just Spanish, but also Català which dominates everything: the metro and trains are all in Català, most advertisements were in the strange language, street signs, plaques, and basically everything was substituted with Català rather than Spanish.  The parks have all strange sculptures, the buildings are a mix between gothic and high-rises, and Gaudi definitely left his mark on the city.

Parc Güell is a beautiful example of Gaudi's work in Barcelona.  It's a public park located on the top of a hill overlooking the city.  It is filled with mosaics, whimsical walls, and fairytale houses moving you from reality into art: Open air art; no plaques or dates, no security.  Completely amazing.

La Rambla is the most famous street in the city lined with tourist shops, flower shops, and people selling pets, ice cream, and other things.  About half way up is the Mercat St. Josep which is an enormous building filled with all types of fresh food.  It ranged from the weird: like lamb's head or skinned rabit with its eyes still attached, to the normal: fruits, vegetables, spices, etc.  I entered and bought a coconut-pineapple smoothie and walked around the maze of booths in awe. 

La Sagrada Familia is, for me, the most iconic sight of the city.  It is a cathedral started by Gaudí in 1882 that is still under construction.  Now, the adjective "gawdy" in the English language is usually used with oversized jewelry, or something that is over-embellished.  This originally comes from the name Gaudi, the patron artist and decorator of Barcelona.  Keeping this in mind, La Sagrada Familia is extremely gawdy.  It had towers reaching up into the sky like stalagmites or like melted and well used candles.  It's a big baroque mess of a cathedral built outside of the baroque era... A strange mix of beautiful and horrific.

The shopping in the city is also possibly the best I've seen in a while...I'd even say it rivals Madrid.  I passed at least 5 H&Ms (two on the same street), 3 Bershkas, a couple Zaras, Mango, Blanco, and the rest of the Kings and Queens of Spanish fashion.  Our hotel was next to a supermall (a 3 story giant horseshoe of shopping) which is unique since shopping in Spain is very Newbury Street, Boston, or Saks Fifth Ave, New York.  I gave in and bought some shoes from Blanco.

I just scratched the surface of this gigantic city and I'm ready for more.  It's so international, historical, artsy and whimsical.  I never got to go to its Mediterranean beaches, explore the not-so-touristy sights, or just wonder around to see where I end up.  Those are my ideal trips, but there just wasn't enough time.  Maybe there's another trip there in the near future, maybe in a couple years, maybe never, but I can honestly say I had an amazing time in this bizarre city.