From the Mixed-Up Files of Ms. Halley E. Theodore

Those of you who are really astute may have noticed that my blog postings have become somewhat more frequent, and I’ve done my best to add more visual imagery to my writings. I recently broke down and bought a Vodafone modem, which enables me to use the internet without leaving my house. Sadly, the poor signal does not work for Skype phone calls, but at least I can communicate via instant message if anyone is interested. I’m now down to three weeks left in Spain, and it’s hard to believe I went so long without proper internet. My rationalization for the modem cost stemmed from the semi-equivalent cost of drinking one or two Diet Cokes per day in order to use a bar’s free wifi. Really, it ends up costing about the same. With the additional time that is not spent walking to and from internet cafes, I try to explore my neighborhood. In Salamanca there are few differences in the blocks surrounding nice and shitty buildings; you will always find at least two small, smoky bars, a cell phone store, pharmacy, bank, and a bakery per block. My neighborhood also boasts a super bazaar and an upscale sex shop, which is oddly and conveniently located in front of a dentist’s office. I feel I must explain the phenomenon of the super bazaar. There are plenty of bazaars around Salamanca (similar to dollar stores with clothing, Christmas decorations, and random crap, and always manned by Chinese immigrants), but my thorough investigation proves that my local bazaar really is “super,” for it trumps the rest in its ridiculousness and size. One day while browsing the store, I happened to spot a rather peculiar item in the kids’ toy section. Mixed in among the knock-off Barbies and action figures were plastic masks with hearts for eyes and giant erect penises for the nose. Somehow I think this “toy” would be better suited for the sex shop across the street. What poor little kid was the victim of choosing the penis mask for Halloween? Unfortunately I had already purchased a little boy’s superhero outfit, made of polyester and highly flammable, or I might have had to go for the hilarious route of dick face.

Enough of my random musings. Let's get back to the expeditions. Emory took us to Andalucia, the southernmost region of Spain, known for flamenco, warm weather, and Muslim influence. When people describe stereotypical Spain (i.e. late, laborious dinners, loquacious people, dancing, bull fighting, and sol y playa) they are referring to the autonomous community of Andalucia. While other areas of the country differ tremendously, I can say that the rumors are true for southern Spain. We visited the three major cities of Andalucia: Cordoba, Granada, and Sevilla. Cordoba houses an impressive, ancient mosque (called la Mezquita de Cordoba), which has been preserved quite well considering Spain's distaste for non-Catholic lifestyle. The mezquita's inner columns are all slightly different styles, for the builders removed the artifacts from Roman ruins and transported them inside the mezquita. I plan on doing the same thing when I'm a homeowner. Who wouldn't want unique Roman artifacts serving as structural support? This post is significantly behind the posting of the Andalucia pictures, so some of the explanations may be a bit repetitive. That handy little note also serves as a reminder to look at my pictures! Don't worry, there aren't too many of me; I just want to show off Spain's beauty. The mezquita was wonderful, but I was outraged at the church's audacity by calling it "la Catedral de Cordoba" on all of the brochures. Um, does anyone else find a discrepancy between the terms mosque and cathedral? Just because Alfonso X had the horrific idea of placing a Catholic church in the middle of the mezquita, that does not make it acceptable to rename the heritage of the building. Even Wikipedia defines the mezquita as a Roman-Catholic church. Perhaps my hyper-sensitivity to past persecution is kicking in, but I find it outrageous, as well as blatantly false, to consider the mezquita as part of the Catholic church. Aside from the carvings of Jesus on the cross, which were added by Catholics, what elements of the mezquita could possibly be considered Christian? With a country that is 98 percent Catholic, the church can't afford to preserve the historical veracity of one building?

The rest of the trip was characterized by less frustration and more amazement. On Friday we toured La Alhambra, a Muslim palace, city, and fortress at the top of a hill in Granada. La Alhambra was one of my favorite places in Spain, and I will continuously nag anyone who plans on going to Spain until they promise to visit this site. La Alhambra is infamous for selling out of entry tickets weeks in advance, so I was extremely lucky that Emory had already purchased our group passes. Anyone who has travelled with me knows that I am a sucker for castles, so a hilltop citadel full of royal palaces fit my agenda perfectly. The attention to the gardens definitely rivaled those of Versailles, and the mosaic tiles and running fountains of the palace courtyards were impeccably maintained. Things kind of blended together after a few hours, for the palaces and rosebushes begin to blend together, but the image that sticks out in my mind is the pool of water in the interior courtyard of a palace, known as el Patio de los Arrayanes. If you googlear (yes, that is really the Spanish verb for google) La Alhambra, this photo will pop up again and again. I was thrilled to secure my legacy as a tourist in front of this famous site.

The remainder of Friday through the rest of the weekend was spent in Sevilla, where we saw a giant cathedral, an hour-long flamenco show, and a stunning park adorned with former Moorish summer palaces. The cathedral holds Columbus's tomb, which I made sure to desecrate a bit by reenacting the death of the Indians by plague. The flamenco performance was incredible; the femininity of both roles, male and female, was quite surprising. The male dancers wear heels, and I guarantee few people in the US would feel comfortable enough with their masculinity to recreate the gesturing, pained facial expressions, and clothing removal that occurred during the dances. My favorite part was the audience participation. The musicians continually call out commands and general encouragements like "vaya," "venga," or "anda" to keep the dancers motivated, and audience members are free to yell things as well. Everyone was polite enough to keep from yelling "para" (stop) or various profanities, which is probably another reason why flamenco was never adopted in the US.

The vivacious and outgoing nature of Sevilla was wonderful, but it proved to be a bit exhausting. People crowd the streets every night, swarming tapas bars and clothing stores alike, and the energy of the city was overwhelming. The art of botelloning is immensely popular in Andalucia, mainly due to the prevalence of public parks and mild nighttime temperatures. A botellon is the custom of a gathering of young people in a public space to drink large amounts of alcohol out of shared bottles. While not exactly legal, consumption of alcohol in open spaces is generally ignored, so the botellon occurs on any night of the week, as soon as it gets dark. I will have to remember that the US is not quite so lax on open container laws, or I may find myself botelloning with my friends in prison.

Ciao, amigos mios!