Ran into Ana (the flamenco teacher) on the street on my way to her studio. Needed to say goodbye. Spent the whole afternoon with her. Talked about leaving. She really understood what I mean when I say that I don’t really feel at home anywhere, but granada is the closest thing to it. It was like all of my life something was missing and when I arrived in granada, it helped me figure some things out. But I don’t know if I got it all solved yet. In fact I’m pretty sure that I have a lot more to discover. Met some of her new students. I’m so envious of them, they have all of granada to explore. I let them in on a couple of things about granada, where to go who to meet etc. it was really funny to talk to them because they all thought my spanish was really good (it’s not). There was one girl who couldn’t understand ana and the shock of it all made her really uncomfortable, so much so that she started to cry. I told her not to worry, that when I first moved in, I couldn’t understand anyone either. “Poco a poco” is definitely the key phrase.. It’s weird to think that I used to be like that, too ashamed to speak, too scared to ask someone to esplain. Now I’m just really more open about it, because I really want to learn. I’d say it was a beautiful way to spend my last hours of daylight in granada.
I can’t believe tomorrow I will be in the states. I want to hug this city, to make it feel my presence before I go. But my arms aren’t big enough, and I know that I will miss it more than it will miss me.
Last night
Wandered around all the great spots of granada and said goodby to the city.We went to the mirador de san nicolas and watched night fall. For some reason, I couldn’t stop crying. Stephane and his friend were there, and so I was really embarassed to cry infront of them. “I usually don’t cry, I don’t know whats wrongw ith me, I just can’t stop” I tried to explain. Stephane’s friend just looked at me and said “maybe this is the first time you really felt fsad
Went to the Hostal to say goodbye to Tyler and some of the employees I kind of know (but not really). I don’t really know why I went, but I’m glad I did. I don’t know tyler that well, but I really enjoyed talking with him. There are only a few people in this world you can actlaully converse with. Converse as in back and forth questioning, not just dull active listening. Challenging ideas, looking for consistency. I wish I had net him earlier in my stay in granada. For some reason, even though it was irrelevent, speaking to him just made me feel better. He created his own life away from the states, and it turned out wonderfully. Why couldn’t I do the same? The world really is just a plane ride away.
Found Stephane and his friend a little later, while wandering by myself infront of the cathedral. There was the usual crowd of hippies botelloning with guitars and girls dancing and everyone clapping. And the crying commenced. We went to the tree plaza in Realejo (placeta de carlos cano) and I thought about how that grafitti tree, although it is composed of two destructive things (an abandoned house and grafitti) It can still be something beautiful. I want to be like that tree.
At about 3am we hiked up to the top of the Alhambra. Saw a park I’ve never seen before, was captivated by the fountains (running water on a humid night will do that). Walked around the public grounds of the Alhambra and suddenly realized how much I’ve changed. Sitting in the exact spot I sat when I first got to granada, looking at the city and sacromonte, my old feelings of indimidation, and unworthyness had transformed themseves to a feeling uf undeniable love. I have literally fallen in love with a city. My heart is about to be broken and I can’t do anything about it. When the wind blows a certain driection, you can hear the echoing palmas and the songs of flamenquistas in the caves. It is the sound that has been in my head all my life..
loose ends
Woke up feeling strangely content. It’s the third day in the row in which I’ve woken up almost alright with the idea of going home. Today is wednesday, my last wednesday in Granada. I feel kind of like I’m emerging from a wonderful dream, happy that it happened, sad that it’s over. Remembering funny things about the last days of my friends: the party at Sara and Laney’s house where we invited everyone we’ve ever met and they all showed up, where Matt lit fireworks off of the terrace and we all thought the house was going to burn down, when the cops came they just looked at us and rolled their eyes… The BBQ at amandas, where although there were only 4 or 5 americans, it was the most american party i’ve been to. where we had a danish man singing american blues and tom waits covers. Where we had a french cook burning the hotdogs…Rachel teaching the spanish girls how to belly dance, the bar where we switched outfits halfway through the night, where we wandered down the street and picked up some pijo guys singing flamenco and drinking gin, where we went to tantra bar but only stayed 5 minutes before it closed, when we got shwarma, ditched the gin drinking flamenco singing pretty boys and rachel corrected the Shwarma employee’s arabic… Salsa dancing with Kenji…Icecream with Kim…. Dinner with Gustavo… Touring Portugal with Laney… all these wonderful endings that perfectly tie up the loose ends. And then I realize, I am the last loose end. There is no one left but me. Of course I have new friends here now, wonderful people I have met, but the chapter of “study abroad” in my life had officially closed on May 20th when everyone else left. I’m glad I stayed because I know now that Granada will always be here, even when all the people I’ve met are gone, there will always be more people to meet and become friends with. Granada is one of those cities that has a strange magnetism. There’s this field of psychology that studies the way in which things vibrate. For example, the color orange vibrates at a higher frequency than the color blue. Also people can vibrate at frequencies: those who vibrate at similar frequencies attract eachother. Perhaps cities can vibrate too. i think it means something that we all met here. And so I’ve come to the decision that I have to go home. Either go home or stay forever. One thing is for sure: I’m coming back and I will stay longer.
Between the Bars
Last day with Laney. Woke up with intense feeling of sadness, with elliott smith Between the Bars playing in my head. For about twenty minutes stared off in the sand, thinking about all the places I’ve been. Not just countries but spats in granada. The strangest part is knowing that it is over. It can’t possibly be over really, can it? Laney keeps saying that the granada chapter in her life is over, that she can’t possibly ever go back. And so I’m left wondering the same about myself. Could she know herself so well to face the truth of her emotions? Coud I be fooling myself into thinking that I could handle coming back? I guess it’s one of those things you don’t know about utnil the right time. Perhaps its one of those things when the thought of losing something is actually more distressing than losing it.
I owe so much to Laney and Sara. So much of my journtey and my internal discovery is due to what they have given me in their presence. In a way I feel like they changed what granada would’ve meant for me. I could’ve been like the other girls in API, never pushing the limit, never wandering through the albayzin alone (because it’s, like, so dangerous) sticking to what is new, western, familiar, comfortable: Tantra Bar, Granada diez, Dolce Vita etc. Now that Sara is gone, I’ve really begun to appreciate her presence in my granada experience. As much as I always write about my adventures with Laney, I’ve negelected to mention sara, her beautiful pensive presence. I ahve aa wonderful memoryu of her sitting in cafe central, writing in her journal over an empty cup of cofee. There was something so genuine in the way she looks when she sees a friend. If there is something I wish to emulate from all my encounters with different personalities I
‘ve met on this trip, it would be her genuine look of happiness and excitement when she sees a friend. That look, welcoming sweet is what I’d like to take back to hhe states with me. It’s a look that says “of course I’m so happy to see you, why wouldn’t I be?” It’s something that I’ve always noted to be missing in american culture, something that I’ve always wished to occur more often. I think of my conversation with Tyler, the american who owns the backpacker’s hostel, who asked me if I knew exactly what it was that made me dislike being in the states so much. What didn’t make me fit in. The only thing I could think of was the superficiality of the culture. When someone says “hey how are you?” and just keeps walking. I remember complaining to another american about that, who simply responded with ” well isn’t that just a rhetorical question anyway?” And thats exactly the problem. Since when is asking how another person feels a rhetorical question? Not to idealize the spanish, but at least they say what they mean. I was in abar with one of my friends who just turned and looke me dead in the eye and said “Eres guapa, de verdad. Eres intelegente, y simpatica. De verdad” and that was that.
Walked through Lisbon with the idea of dropping laney off at a hostel. She didn’t like the city. To be honest, neither did I. Had I visited Lisbon before I had lived in granada, I probably would’ve dug it: very new york. But it seemed kind of lost, kind of souless. And so we drove back down to spain. Crossing the boarder into spain was like coming home. All the sudden I could understand what was on the radio, I could read the names of the towns easily, I could recognize the tiny little houses and the people that lived in them. We dropped laney off at the bus station in Sevilla. Our goodbye was short, callous, as if I would see her next week. Both of us wanted it that way. I would’ve lost it if it had been any different. Michael and I got back in the car and sat in silence for a moment. I put on Ojos de Brujo and cried but felt a little better. We drove past the bus station and saw laney walking inside. I leaned out the window and shouted “Ole guapa! Que guapa eres!” which I imagine probably startled the whole bus station, but i didn’t care. the last image I have of her was her wearing that silly hat and her huge backpack and hiking boots, smiling and waving back at me. She’s a strong woman. She will be fine. She will be missed.
And so my life alone de verdad will start so shortly, and end even more quickly. Greg comes in from Germany tomorrow. I don’t know how he will get a hold of me. We will see if this works out. I want to be alone but at the same time I’m terrified. It’s like now that sara and Laney are gone now, I’ve got to take the wheel. i’ve got to show people how Granada can be.
Cliffside adventures
Woke up cliffside, overlooking rocky beaches and a foggy purple dawn. Had set up the tent nezt to a bed of pollen, due to our lack of visual ability the night before. Had played folk gameat sunset. I amagine it will be the last folk game of my life. Drove around all day searching for our next beautful beachside. Came upon abandoned beach. After traversing accross mountains of sand dunes, I felt like a character out of a fairy tale, wondering ofver mountains of sandy desert in search of the beach. Had some realizations about myself (dilusions caused by the heat no doubt): I’m not the princess I once thought I was. I am a warrior. If my life were a fairytale, I wouldn’t be the princess, I’d be the warrior because I don’t need to be rescued. I am not fragile or weak. I have no desire to be that girl anymore. Swam in the sea on the abandoned beach, large eztension of sandy nothingness. Clear blue sea, white sand, covered in colorful clam shells. Sang a saeta to the sea, saeta del mar. Drove around a bit more. Drove into Sintra, the most beautiful city in Portugal (if it weren’t for the tourists…)Found an abandoned palace and driving by, imagined being a crazy old poet living in this haunted estate. Drove around intil late in the night, looking for a place to sleep- propbelms with civilization: all the beaches are tightly patrolled, the campgrounds closed for the night, no hostels in sight. Stumbled upon a tiny motel in exurbia, looked like something out of psycho. either that or a bad porn. The latter became affrimed when we entered the room: complete with mirror on the cieling, a circular bed, red neon lights, cheeezy romantic musicand automatic floral scent which sprayed itself every couple of minutes. Hilarious. Awful. Too tired to care. Some day we will laugh uncontrollably about it. For tonight, however, we will cook dinner and try not to choke on the horrible plastic floral scent.
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