My thoughts...have been organized

So I decided to apply for a nonfiction writing seminar at Northwestern for next quarter. For the application I wrote a piece that basically sums up my current state of mind here, but organizes them a little more eloquently. Here it is:

I sit alone in a crowded bakery not three blocks from my dorm in Barcelona and, out of the corner of my eye, observe the Spaniards in their natural habitat. It is 5 o’clock on a Friday afternoon and this seems to be the time to gather for a late-afternoon tallat (small coffee with milk) or a croissant. Two small children play loudly with toy cars at the table next to me while their chatting mothers look on, occasionally interjecting the raucous game with commands to quiet down. Directly in front of me sits a boy slurping chocolate milk and squirming under the unrelenting attention of an older couple whom I assume are his grandparents. On my right, a mother consoles her sobbing daughter with kisses and coca-cola. I cower alone at a table that is pushed against the wall, clutching my tallat in both hands— a symbol that I know something about the culture here. A stained glass sign above me lets me know that this café is called Oriol and has been in business since 1927.

To me, my foreignness is palpable. I notice myself leaning into the wall, as if to cloak myself in its solidity and discard the temporality that tugs me away. I have been living in Barcelona for almost two months now and, while I am finally beginning to notice an improvement in my Spanish, I still feel constantly out of place. At first glance, I could be a plausible Spaniard, decked out in my flashy Nike tennis shoes and oversized gray sweater. I even like to think that my quarter of Sephardic Jewish blood gives me some physical resemblance to the people here. Sadly, any cushion of physical advantage I’m fond of imagining bursts as soon as I open my mouth. My accent is nowhere near perfect, the words come out too slowly and because of this I have perfected the blank stare of incomprehension when I’m spoken to. I find it hard to completely throw myself into learning this language when I know I’ll be gone in two more months. My visit here is only a blip on this city’s history—and mine.

The United States is younger by millennia than the oldest Roman walls of Barcelona. In Spain, families have been rooted in the same towns for hundreds of years. Cataluña, the autonomous community in which Barcelona is located, is known for its people’s fierce national pride. The people here feel their legacy in their bones, a legacy that is intricately intertwined with the fact that they have occupied the same land for centuries.

Home was a concept I never fully understood until I left it behind for college. Nor did I realize how important my hometown is to my identity until I came to Barcelona. When I introduce myself, the first thing I want people to know about me is that I’m from Ann Arbor. Not that I’m the oldest child out of 3 girls, not that I go to school at Northwestern, not my political beliefs and certainly not that I’m American. Only the rare souls who have been there, or those who know someone from this Midwest mecca can understand what I mean when I say I’m from Ann Arbor, Michigan. I wear Birkenstocks, eat tofu and ride my bicycle as much as possible not because I want to emit any sort of image, but because it feels comfortable to perpetuate the culture I’ve been steeped in since birth.

I have always assumed that as I grow up, I will move away from Ann Arbor, leave my family and friends to pursue a career and form my own life. America was built, and still runs, on the ideas of immigration and mobility. In contrast, Spanish culture relies much more heavily on concrete traditions, objects and places, just as the residents of this barrio rely on Oriol for their daily caffeine rush.

I’m either becoming more affected by Spain than I thought I was or something in me has changed because now I’m not so sure that I need to leave my home, my identity, in order to grow as a person. Meeting Spanish university students who either still live at home or go home to their families every single weekend demonstrates to me the—until now—completely unexamined path my life could take if I choose. Living alongside the proud Catalonians has shown me that instead of uprooting myself, maybe I’ll just grow in a different direction.

UPDATE: My ankle is better! Woo!

B: Also, it's freezing in Barcelona now... a.k.a. in the upper 50s. Where did the 60s and 70s go? It just skipped right from 80 to 50.

3. Did all my laundry by hand in my sink over the weekend. Fun stuff. I'm still trying to decide if the 5 euros I saved was worth it

Venice

I've finally got pictures up from Venice on facebook, but here's a quick peek at some highlights.

Erin and I spent a very long time sitting outside a cafe in Piazza Santa Margherita. Luckily for us, we managed to pick a square that was having a Saturday morning market. This flower guy was super awesome. He was very sprightly and kept bursting into song. He totally charmed all of his customers (and me and Erin from afar). I am ridiculously upset that someone's head got in the way of this picture.

After leaving the cafe, Erin and I walked all the way around the outer point of Venice. It was threatening like mad to storm the whole time but the real downpour held off for a few hours. I love this picture because it's so deserted. Later in the day, and the next day which was sunny and beautiful, this street would be mobbed with tourists.

I really like this picture. This was one of the most beautiful places I found in Venice.

View from the bridge i stood at for an hour. I feel like this picture is on alot of postcards

A dilapidated old building... has definitely seen some water damage.

Getting into the swing of things

I've kept meaning to write another post, but somehow 2 weeks have flown by. In that time, I spent an amazing weekend with Laury and Ton in Holland, started classes, and probably wasted a lot of time doing nothing because I can't remember anything else at the moment.

One thing I've been doing a lot of is walking. Possibly not the best idea because my ankle is still not healed almost a month after I sprained it, but I really cannot help it. The best way to see the city is by walking. I've realized that I spend a lot of time sitting in my room and being unproductive so my solution is to walk somewhere new every chance I get and spend my time discovering new places. This past Saturday I rambled over the entire old city, from there headed towards the beach and then back to my dorm which took me about 3 hours. That walk in particular was empowering because my ankle hardly bothered me and what's more, I knew where I was the entire time! Maybe I hadn't been on the specific streets before, but I could locate myself in the scheme of things and that was very satisfying. I also ended up walking by the Sagrada Familia two nights in a row, once on purpose and once by chance. The church at night is even more magnificent than by day. The towers seem to loom into infinity and the old side is especially terrifying; the façade looks like the gaping mouth of a monster. Only by seeing it at night could I begin to grasp how ridiculous the church is going to be when completed. It looks surreal, unearthly and made me feel extremely insignificant. Trying to imagine the church standing twice as high as it does now only confounded me more. All I know is that to be alive to see this church completed would be one of the most amazing things I could think of. And that might happen, because apparently the projected date to have it finished by is 2026!

While I think I'm beginning to understand more about this city and can get around on my own and feel comfortable doing it, I still have a lot of trouble with feeling like I stick out like a sore thumb. I know there's nothing I can do about looking American but I feel like I aggravate the problem every time I open my mouth-- my language skills are a dead giveaway that I'm not from here. It's been 5 weeks since I got here, yet my Spanish has not improved as much as I'd hoped. I still feel awkward using the language, I know my accent is awful, and furthermore, my friends and I speak in English most of the time just because we find it hard to have meaningful conversations in Spanish. It's also really hard to understand lectures in Spanish when the professors speak fast and have different types of accents. I'm working on it though... Now I'll be in classes taught in Spanish 17 hours/ week and I'm starting a language exchange tomorrow with a Spanish girl named Emma who wants to practice her English. So we'll see, hopefully I can hone those Spanish skillz a little more before I have to leave.

So I think that the theme of my life now is just to really start learning the city, culture and language here. It's high time for me to start being proactive.