I LOVE being able to 1 walk home from class in the city at night 2 wearing shorts and a tank top and feel comfortable. Summer and dinner have yet to come.

Did you know....

that the hiyab is prohibited by law in Turkey? The majority of the people I noticed in Istanbul were dressed in "Western" clothing, but a good percentage of the women wore the hiyab...and covered much more than the women in Morocco...some only revealing a slit for their eyes. It's interesting to see what an "Arabic" country will do to become "Europeanized." 'Cause Turkey sure is knocking on Europe's door saying let me in! And the women in Morocco choose themselves whether or not they wear the veil. However in some European countries, like France, wearing the veil is prohibited. And Europeans pride themselves in being democratic...Go to Morocco and you can choose....

It's moments like these, that I never want to leave España...or the University world. I am on such a high after talking to my profesora about my idea for my final essay. I felt that she understood my spanish (that it wasn't THAT bad), probably because I felt very comfortable speaking with her and noticed her patience and interest in my ideas. I am so happy to be here and be able to take advantage of studying subjects that are currently relevant to issues now in Spain and the world. Being able to give voices to those in Morocco who want to be heard so badly. That I can integrate all my classes and expereinces into one centralized investigation...of something I knew little about previously: Islam. There is something that really strikes home about learning about these themes while living in the heart of Spain, which derives a lot of its identity from the 800 years the Muslims were here. And about having friends in Morocco, learning through experiencing, and enriching my classroom academics with this REAL WORLD knowledge. And being supported by two wonderful profesores, so extremely opposite in personality and teaching style. Carmen and Diego! I have energy to dive into this 6-8 page essay in spanish now! Here I come!!!

En el autobús hoy, habían dos mujeres italianas quién hablaban mucho en voces altas. Me da mucha gracia. Spainards and Italians have a reputation for being the loudest in Europe, and touching and gesturing a lot. Today, I saw how the Italians are even louder than the Spainards. Sin vergüenza! These two women were clearly out of place but completely confortable being so. Incredible! Muy mona! An old Spanish man even covered one of the lady’s bus faire so she didn’t have to break a 20. Precioso. España les acogían bien esas mujeres.

Another day of passing the time sevillana style with the fam, sitting around the table after lunch chatting about aches and pains, fruit, beaches and traveling only to look up at the clock and realize hours have passed since we sat down to eat, better yet when we finished eating. Hay que ser flexible! I do have class in a bit and have some things to do beforehand, but I am happy to soak up the spanish and readjust my plans.

Ohh, and the heat today (and yesterday) is like an August day!

La Corrida de Toros

Por fin, La Corrida de Toros! Olé! Me parece una tradición muriendo en España. La mayoría de la gente son hombres viejos y turistas. Por eso, me alegre aprovechar la oportunidad. En Cataluña, ya quiere aprobar un ley para prohibir la corrida de toros. Hablé con un hombre anciano que trabaja en una ganadería—hasta la muerte! Su entrada era un regalo porque cinco de los siete toros eran de su ganadería en un pueblo afuera de Sevilla-Lara, dónde él nació. I wonder if that was the one I went to 4 years ago with my high school. Anyway, I was able to use a lot of common spoken phrases to communicate with him, which was exciting and gave me a confidence boost. Hay que comer! Though he creeped Kate out, to me he was a harmless old man who wanted to tell his story. Diez horas por día, él monta a caballos…pues es como segunda naturaleza. Muy, muy viejo, pero sigue trabajando…sacó una foto de nosotras y saltó de su asiento como si fuera joven. Algunos nunca crece viejo. J Despúes de charlar por un rato, dio cuenta que estaba en el asiento incorrecto. Eres guapa, me dijo antes de salir, jaja.

Me encanta el dedicación, pasión, adrenalina, paciencia, y arte de la corrida. Hay que ser flexible. Me gusta el idea, pero no sé si estoy de acuerdo con el acción. Los matadores tienen que entrenar tanto; no hay ningún sitio con grasa en sus cuerpos. Y es muy impresionante que pueden matar un toro. It reminds me del poder de la naturaleza y los toros, que grandes, altos, y fuertes son! Me parece cada toro que vino era más grande y agresivo. Era necesario que los humanos pensaran en una manera para poder dominar un toro. Necesitan muchas personas y una plaza especial para la corrida porque sin estos, el humano no es nada. A mí me admira los toros y cuantas ganas tiene de vivir. Sigue luchando y luchando, hasta la muerte. Yo quiero vivir como un toro muriendo…con tanta energía, pasión y ganas. Mi padre aquí me expliqué que habían siete toros porque el sexto no era tan agresiva. “La gente no quiere ver un toro que no ataca.” Vale. Y llegaron siete toros de otra raza con bells around their necks to herd him up. Lo que no me gusta es que los caballos sufran. No pedieron estar allí. El toro es el enfoque de la corrida, y el matador escogió ser matador, pero los caballos están empujando sobre las muras y gored by the bulls. Y no se ve nada. Qué tranquilos tienen que ser. Pobrecitos.

En una manera, la corrida de toros es un microcosmo de la sociedad española. Tanta tradición; pero eso tiene sentido que una cultura con tanta historia coge la tradición. Mucha gente sentado muy cerca en un espacio pequeño (concepto de espacio). Todo el mundo gritando, olé, venga, vamos, vale ya, coño, joder, bueno! Y discutiendo entre ustedes con suficiente shhhhes!! One man spoke to Kate in what I like to call, Spanish-English. “Give me my hat….please.” Very direct. There is no “Puedes darme mi sombrero?” “Dame mi sombrero,” is polite. Or “Déme mi sombrero.” Me hace mucha gracia. He knows how to speak english, but does not understand the culture that speaks it, and that ppl do not request for things in such a way. Los idiomas no existen en una caja. Los hombres llevando sombreros típicos. Y porque es el último día de la feria, habían una mujeres vestido en trajes de flamenca. Qué calor! Abanicos por todas partes…es práctica y lista, no es una tontería. Gracias a Dios un hombre me regaló un abanico porque llevaba un vestido pero sudaba tanto!

Aunque me duele la espalda por causa de sentando en el asiento de ladrillo por tres horas y pico, me lo pasé bien. Me encantan que los españoles sean tan amables. Una experiencia buena.

Quién pudiera estar en Sevilla en la primavera! Oh wait, I am! Me encantan las noches de la primavera. Tan tranquilas. Especialmente las primeras…cuando puedas ir afuera después de una cena tarde española y ser cómoda. The stillness of the night inspired me to put on some quiet jazz to paint my nails for the beaches if Portugal next weekend (Bordeaux—discovery thanks to Vicki, purchase thanks to Aunt Sue: goodbye mani-pedi) and relax in my room.
No tengo ganas de volver a los Estados Unidos, I LOVE living here in Spain, but I cannot wait to be able to control my own diet again. My stomach never adjusted to the Spanish food or way of eating it and have been in an incredible amount of pain lately. A lot at one time, quickly and hours and hours apart. I can’t wait to have the freedom to guiltlessly eat what I want, when I want and how I want. Sigh. Otra visita al médico el lunes.

"No te vas con tu capucha, te va a reír--la gente en la calle.."

Mi madre me hace mucha gracias :-)

Te quiero Magda

We don't realize how little we can live with, until we do it. It was an adjustment coming to Spain, showering for less time and in a different way etc, but still more of an adjustment to Morocco. Returning to Sevilla, I found so many things unnecessary, since I realize I can live without them now. Though I usually go equipped with toilet paper and hand sanitizer, I paid even closer attention to having these items on me in Morocco. Soon after, it became second nature. I stepped into my bathroom at my home in Sevilla and marveled at the luxury of it. I would not have described it as so before my trip. Though an occasional hair or sticky spot can be found in the sink, it now seemed to me a spa. Bathrooms in Morocco are not a fancy spot to relax and hang out...do your buisness in-and-out. After mastering the art of using a squat toilet, the Western toilet now seems so luxurious. I developed a routine in Morocco. I didn't realize how much I was thinking to do simple things until I returned. Using a bathroom here does not require a special consciousness. I expereinced a strange vacancy. I don't need this luxury! Should I have stayed longer living in such conditions, this mental strain would have turned into a comfortable habit.

Moroccan public schools teach Islam to children of all relgiions, but do not obligate them to pray. Moroccans are very proud of their attitude of tolerance. The largest Mosque in Tangier is across form the largest church. Very interesting...

Sobre la Marcha

Go with the flow

;)

Interesting

Today was the first day I had to adjust to the schedule of Spain. Every other day, I intended to sit around the table and talk with my family, as long as they stayed at the lunch table to chat. However today, I had a different idea of what I would do after lunch-shower, change, shop, research. But Cristina remained at the table. When I told her I was going to shower, she insisted I wait... or do so verryy carefully as to not disrupt my digestion. I stood up, but we continued to talk, on to the next thing, and the next thing... I felt a little frustrated a first (this wasnt my PLAN), but then realized, you are adjusting Kendra. To a culture different than your own, when you had not expected/intended to. Perhpas that is hte most important time to do so. It reminded me of what I love about the Spanish culture, that they value people and taking care of oneself....more than rushing around. Relájate, relájate! =) Another sunny day in Sevilla con mi hermana

La Semana Santa

I have a new appreciate for the nazarenos after being first line at a handful of processions this week. Thanks to Cristina, I got the inside scoop Wed night.

Went to the famous Madrugada el viernes santo, and had a GREAT spot on Calle Pureza (Thanks again, to Cristina, la mejor hermana española)

Un sitio muy bueno, gracias a mi hermana aquí, tiran pedales de rosas blancas desde el balcón, incienso llena el aire, la gente espera desde 22, canta, "Viiivvaa....La Esperaaaanzzaa de Triiiaaanaa!!!" un banda magnífico, más q 2000 nazarenos, y una joven con tanto entusiasmo tener las esampitas. "La Esperaaaaanzzzaaaa....guuapaaa," mucho más impresionante de los imagines. Una aventura hasta 4:30...

Being up close, you notice the subtle differences among those marching. They became more human to me, rather than lines of identical, caped, hooded figures. Most obviously, each Hermandad had their own colors, and the nazarenos who march before the Cristo are often different colors than those who march before the Virgen. It's so much more intimate seeing their eyes through the holes of their caps, their hands holding the giant candles each in a slightly different manner, the ay they carry themselves. But some march in their socks, still others barefoot. Many give out estampitas, each one different images of their Jesus and/or María figure that they buy themselves. As for La Esperanza, they dress in velvet and leave the church at 2:10, cold, cold, cold....and march until about 2 in the afternoon, in the heat of the 77 degree F sun today. It really is a sacrifice! Lots of practice, Such commitment! I think, in addition to appreciating the beauty of the pasos and music from the marching bands, many Spaniards come out to show their respect for the nazarenos. They do not seem hokey or silly nor strike me as eerie KKK look alikes any longer. And that's not even to mention the cuadrillos, 40 or so men who carrying the pasos...

La prensa mata

Chefchaouen "Look, peaks!" La ciudad azul en las montañas

There is something very compelling about the connection I was able to create with the storeowners here. We were united by a language that was foreign to both of us: Spanish. How beautiful! And thanks to the Sara and Jihane, who showed us the ropes in the Medina in Rabat, I felt confident bargaining in Chaouen the next day. They were so hospitable, inviting us into their stores, eager to tell us about all their products, even after making clear we were not going to buy anything. Still, they insisted to show us how to wear a turban or a gilabi for example. Time is not money in Morocco (Nor in Spain, which I LOVE). They seem very people/relationship-oriented, which is what the title to my blog refers. If the storeowner did not have the product you wanted, they would ask if you had time and run to another store to retrieve another style or model. As we were already late for meeting our group for dinner, (well, I suppose on-time for Morocco) I had to decline the offer, telling him, "tenemos prisa." He plopped down in his chair, sighing the phrase above I have come to realize is so true. Hurrying kills.

It seems the poorer places you go, the more real the people are... I am all for Morocco Exchange program and believe there should be one for EVERY developing country (Yes, ambitious, I know). More expensive than tourist trips, but so much more valuable than merely seeing pretty places and buying exotic souvenirs. An opportunity to interact with the culture. With MC, I learned a great deal about the culture(s) and just by being curious and willing to engage in dialogue, I felt I could give back to the country that welcomed me so warmly. They were so eager to talk and listen, exchange. In addition, I knew I was supporting them monetarily. I could see where my money was going. To support women who were learning skills to find jobs. To provide a safe learning environment for children of shanty towns to prevent acts of violence like the Casablanca bombings. Moroccans seem to take a special interest in service, since I imagine for many of them it hits close to home. So much poverty! Lifting up the cities is part of national pride. We can do this! Whereas in the U.S., service is something some ppl engage in and others choose not to make it a part of their lives. Very interesting rift.

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs, ask yourself what makes you come alive, and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." -H.T. Whitman

My perspective of women wearing the veil in Morocco has changed with my new understanding. Three University-aged Moroccan girls shared lunch with us at the DARNA our first day in Tangier and the question came up, "Why do you not wear the veil, while you two do?" First of all, all women in Morocco have the choice; it is not an act of male suppression. Covering parts of the face is not a part of Islam either. This highly symbolic act sends the message, "Judge me by my thoughts and who I am, not my body." Along with wearing the veil, comes the commitment to dress in a conservative way, without bright colors, revealing garments or attractive clothing. And these young women articulated well-informed opinions eloquently in a language foreign to them. Very impressive! I never knew the significance, but now I have great respect for this custom. And even the girl who did not wear the veil, dressed just as conservatively as the others and sent the message that she wanted to be judged not by her body, but by her brains. All three possessed this impressive air of confidence and tolerance and I hope to build my confidence to be as comfortable with myself as they were. They were eager to engage in discussion and express themselves, but also understood the value of accepting others' opinions as well. I am looking fwd to getting their e-mails soon, since I have so many more questions for them.