Don't Ever Get a Truck

     I've spent the last month entirely around 20 year olds, not a break, not a moment to myself.  I've not been made  aware of how old I am until this trip.  I make jokes and have to preface them with "do you know about?" Or "have you seen this movie?"  I feel out of touch and altogether isolated without my peers here.  I've become incredibly insecure (yet another thing) about growing older, my prime slipping away countered with the fact that I feel so very alive and vital.  This weekend, I spent the weekend at a nearby beach with a fantastically introverted and bright young woman, Angela.  I've spent a lot of time with wee Angela while here in Spain and she's allowed me time to reflect on what it means to be a woman her age.  Most of our time together I am trying to convince her of a book, movie or experience she ABSOLUTELY NEEDS TO HAVE IN HER LIFE, or at least what I needed in mine.  I do this with a fervor that is probably obnoxious and overbearing.  While I am excited to share the things that have been impactful for me, I realize that I came across them only when I was ready for them, when I truly would find value in them.  Angela takes her time with things.  She likes to do things at her own pace, taking often days to revisit a question she was asked in haste.  She is incredibly empathetic, has a cutting wit and is ready for bigger and better things in her life.  She has a quiet sense of adventure but is often doubting herself.  I wish I could say she reminds me of me but frankly she has a better head on her shoulders than I ever did.  I was angry, impulsive and petty at her age.  She is calm, close to her family and private, a very different animal than I am.  In our talks, she has pointed out several tendencies I have socially and professionally and although she is very young, she's wiser than her years.  Through her, I've realised that it's not just me doing the teaching.

      So this week, rather than telling you about three days on a beach, a pool, drinking sangria or attempts at speaking Spanish, I will share with you a lesson list to my younger self, ones I wished I had learned earlier.

1.  Don't ever get a truck, people will always ask you to help them move.  Only help folks who will help you move.  

2.  Always bring extra toilet paper.  I know you don't carry a purse, and thank goddess for that --- but really, BRING EXTRA TOILET PAPER.

3.  Pay with your debit card on Amazon, not credit.  It'll be a problem.  Don't fight over money, it's useless.

4.  Don't quit your foreign language when you get to conjugating past tense verbs.  You'll need Spanish, stupid!

5.  If you keep going out to eat, you are going to get fat.  And when you get fat, appreciate the experience.  It's nice to know what both bodies feel like so you can find a balance.  You'll have a broader definition of beauty because you'll be informed.  Deal with it.

6.  When you do gain weight, put on the goddamned swimsuit and swim.  You'll spend years avoiding the thing you love most, water- because you are afraid of what your body looks like.  Swim bitch.  SWIM.

7.  Start reading autobiographies.  Don't wait too long to find women who think and act like you do, even if you mostly only find them in books.  There are indeed brassy, smart mouthed, loud laughing queer women out there, just like you.  And they can be beautiful creatures with swag.

8.  Headboards are just as gross as top covers.  Apparently remotes are also nasty.

9.  Courage in your convictions.  Just know when it's appropriate to share them.  

10.  Always jump in the pool.  Make it quick.  Just remember your sunscreen.

11.  Tell people they are beautiful- because they are.

12.  Snuggle who the hell you want.  It's a litmus test.

13.  Make mistakes.  Guilt is for Catholics.

14.  Don't be afraid to tell the truth.  It'll then be on your terms to say the difficult things.  Someone is always listening and it may just change things. But be careful of the sangria.  

15.  Take those naps with Mom and learn what she's teaching you, it's a gift.  (Sewing, cooking, ironing, planting)

16.  Madonna stops being cool.  Madge is kind of stupid.  

17.  Don't buy things.  Instead, travel.

18.  Never put a cost-benefit value on your friendships.  No one will ever put in what you do and that's OK.

19.  Always believe someone when they show you who they are, the first time.  And damn you if it takes twice - you deserve what's coming to you if you let that happen.

20.  Your time is your only currency.  Don't give it to someone you don't want to.

21.  Don't make desperate attempts to evade creeps.  When you are uncomfortable, say so.

22.  Stop judging.  The happiest people don't.

23.  Read whatever the hell you want.  When people ask, tell them it's the biography of olive oil.  They won't ask again.

24.  When the desert isn't sweet enough, spread Nutella on it.  There is always a way to enjoy something sour...

25.  There will be a ton of phantom shit smells in your life.  Don't spend too much time trying to find out where it's coming from.  You'll know it when you find it.

26.  Keep every great personality in your life, regardless of age.  

27.  When the ugly cry comes, there's no way to stifle it.  It's coming and there's nothing you can do about it.  Let it out.  

28.  Stop feeling guilty about how you spend your free time.  It's all valuable.  But try to spend downtime flossing.  

29.  Sight see.  There's a reason people do it.

30.  Thanks for not getting that tribal or that eyebrow ring you thought was so cool.  

31.  Art isn't everything, it's the ONLY thing.  Just because you aren't making it right now, doesn't mean you aren't letting the pot simmer and adding ingredients at all times.

La Alhambra

   

Well things are starting to wrap up here in good ol' Lanaron, or LanJAMON as a clever student has dubbed it.  We have a little over two weeks left in Spain with the last five days spent in Madrid and most of us are really looking forward to heading back.  We've started to make plans about how to fit each other into our lives when we arrive stateside, making barbeque promises and on campus invitations to coffee.  The students are joking about a possible scenario where they all run straight for my Joe at the airport to hug him before I do.  I think they should do it.  Here in Spain, I now joke with the staff, let the maid complain to me about work and travel with ease throughout the country with little anxiety.  I'll miss many things about this place, especially tapas.  Two bucks for wine and they pretty much feed you free.  

     This Friday was supposed to take us on a trip to a river, ham (Jamon Serrano) curing establishment and chocolate factory.  I don't know how to say Charlie in Spanish otherwise you'd be in for a real zinger.  Either way, the bus never came as the liaison in Madrid didn't confirm.  We are all very very tired of being led around by our arms so to be honest most all of us celebrated our freedom and chose to do what we wanted for the day.  Scheduled trips during our free days can be a bit suffocating.  I took a hike to the Moorish castle, napped, had lunch and coffee and finished with a rented movie.  Couldn't have been better.  The next morning the bus DID show up for our scheduled trip to the Alhambra in nearby Granada.  

     So the Alhambra is a mideival moorish fortress/palace and considered widely to be a wonder of the world.  We strolled the gardens before and while waiting right before the ticket time a guide none of us were informed we would have , showed up after having frantically looking for us all morning.  Fun stuff.  Guides are a mixed bag as it's someone chatting away in your ear as you try to take in visions that are meant to impact your life.  For the history buff in me, I'm ok with it most of the time.  At this point?  I'm over it.  Again, getting pulled around by the arm is irritating and often more distracting than anything, especially when you've already covered the sight in your class... 

The Alhambra is richly adorned with the Arabic phrase "over all rulers, God" in calligraphic script as well as ornamental foliage patterns created in stucco originally imprinted with wooden molds.  It would have been painted but the color has worn from age.  The ceilings are often mosaic wood patterns and the windows would have also originally been stained glass.  Only one remained in the entire complex.  The horseshoe arch was allowed to metasticize into a type of ornamental stalagtite in the upper recesses of rooms creating a cave like appearance.  The gardens led always to fountains and cloister like oasis foliage, roses and cypress trees.  Queen Isabella thought it so beautiful that she was originally buried there.  To be honest, I thought the royal palace in Sevilla to be more beautiful but hey, it was worth the trip and then some.  

      Four of us walked down a municipal hill garden,  had a fresh squeezed cup of orange juice and chose to lunch at an Italian joint on pizza and pasta.  Gelato of course followed because we are all gluttonous Americans and how often is one in Europe?   We stumbled onto a runway fashion show of older women in Flamenco clothing.  I pet a few dogs as usual before we headed to our meeting place to ride back in the smartest, cleanest Mercedez Benz bus ever made.

      Fast forward to 2:30 am in the hotel.  The music is still pumping at top volume from the old folks' party downstairs, and it sounds like it's coming out of my bathroom.  They play "Bailando," squeal like teenagers and grope in the garden below my balcony whilst chain smoking.  This goes on at top notch speed until 4am.  4am.  No really, 4 am.  The elderly party until 4 am.  I may perhaps be the oldest woman in Spain because I stewed about it like a biddy all night and morning.  

      Today I am prepping for class tomorrow where I talk about my own work.  

Thoughts:  toilets here are number one and number two.  You choose which and pull the lever up to flush.

Most times, public restrooms don't have toilet seats.  

They just reuse the bottles here after cleaning.  No recycling the way they do in America.  I'm ok with it.

I may be addicted to queso curado and manzanilla tea.  Still, I'm done with ham.

I'm getting grayer in the hair since I got here.  

I look forward to being able to wash my clothes regularly and large scale garbage cans when I get back.

The Land of Tile and Then Some

A group wide excursion this weekend led us to Córdoba and Sevilla Spain.  We awoke early to find a bagged lunch from the hotel awaiting us.  (The last time we went on a walking exclusion without breakfast the group got close to violence). What better to have first thing in the morn than, you guessed it, a Jamon sammi?  I'm divorcing cured ham after this.  We are done.  We took the windy mountain road three and a half hours out to Córdoba, a beautiful Renaissance Andalusian city.   We crossed the long and formidable bridge into the old city center to meet a lovely and calming guide named Loli at the Triumphal Arch.  Walking at a leisurely pace she whispered history and notable facts through our single channel head pieces.  We strolled through the supremely manicured gardens of the Alcazar.  The water features brought in by the Moors allows for both irrigation and spectacularly beautiful fountains.  The smells of Córdoba were overwhelmingly fragrant with florals.  

      The most notable sight that day was the Córdoba Cathedral, a former Mosque of the most grand proportions.  This place was huge, monarchs adding to it as the city grew.  The tile work and decorative carved wall surfaces left me in awe.  We were finally cut loose by the guide and free to pursue lunch as we pleased around 3pm.   (By the end of our tour, the guide kept parading us in front of outdoor eateries and I caught every single face looking longingly at plates of food like hungry dogs). We ate a late lunch, menu deal dia, at a traditional Spanish place.  I had a thick regional gazpacho, paella and a cafe con leche.  Córdoba is truly a beautiful city.  We hopped on the bus again for another hour to head to Sevilla filled with conversation about the day and singing to Whitney Houston, well specifically Clay giving us a lip synced version from the front of the bus.  

      We met a young casual guide who chain smoked while leading the pack named Eduardo.  He chattered on and on in what he thought to be a charming manner.  We were a very tired and captive audience.  I at that point didn't have much patience for insistent charm (which bordered on obnoxious) but I did appreciate his critical lense on history.  He also conveniently covered the history lessons I was charged with giving the next day.  No, no, no.  I am fine with losing a whole day to research that was redundant.  No problem.  We ended the tour at a spectacle built for Spain's 1929 exposition used as a set on Star Wars.  From there we were informed of a snafu with the accomodations and bus driver hour limit and hustled to the hotel to make the check in time.  (Side note:  this was all ONE SINGLE DAY mind you.  7am - 10pm of sightseeing.  The guy planning this probably wouldn't be able to keep up this kind of physical and mental exertion I'd wager). We ended the night in the hotel cafeteria with you guessed it, paella and the most delicious, sweet white wine I've ever had.  I collapsed into a very comfortable bed.

        The next morning we spent the morning at the Reales Alcazares and her expansive gardens.  This palace is still the official royal quarters for the royal family during their stay in Seville.  Originally a Moorish palace every single room is decorated with the repeating patterns of Spain's past.  On and on each space was richly decorated with the horseshoe arches, tiled masterworks and carved undulating surfaces.  Even the ceilings took my breath away.  I may be getting used to abundant beauty however, as I get swept up in banal beauty more often.  The smells of the restaurants and flowering trees, the kindness of a stranger, the Spanish Tweens' cool, divine and effortless beauty seem to compel me more than all of this excess, surprisingly.  We leisurely walked the royal gardens to find the kind of courtyards and labyrinthine hedge work you only find in movies.  Each small section delighted with a richly decorated tile fountain and masterful botanical creations, all very, very beautiful to behold.  I felt lucky that morning.  (Side note:  I'm really paying close attention to the ridiculous photos people take at these tourist destinations.  I don't know what I'm going to do with it but it is providing me a belly laugh every time.)

      We spent the next hour or so at the Seville Cathedral, the third largest in the world.  We walked yet again another incredibly tall tower to see the city view.  Originally this tower was the minaret and the man calling all to prayer traversed the heights five times daily.  Luckily, there weren't steps but ramps that he scaled on top of his donkey.  35 flights to a true vision of an old and vibrant city was worth the sweat.

      I broke off alone with a delightfully easygoing student Angela, fatigued by the group dynamic-to see the art museum and lunch it up.  The art museum was free but sadly mediocre, lots of flamenco gypsie and matador paintings that reveled in saccharin cliches.  We cut out quickly to have a bodega lunch, me of course having another paella, a record for me being three meals in a row.  I know, I know.  Beach season is right around the corner.  You don't have to remind me.  We bought a gelato and walked to the plaza featured in Star Wars who's name I can't recall.  We rented a rowboat and struggled to maintain a direction or pace, bumping into rowing tourists the whole time.  We ended the day laughing and me a little sunburned.  The three hours back involved bobble headed naps and a pit stop at an oddly familiar gas station that was exactly like one might find in the U.S.  

More side notes.

1.  The students are struggling to maintain composure in social settings.  The group is isolated and feeling restless.  Gossip is happening.  I keep my head down and spend my evenings streaming House of Cards with Angela, who is gleefully content without chatter.  When I bed down in the late evening I am careful to make sure I lock my door -in case someone feels stabby.  I'll report on the dynamic as it shifts.  Hopefully there won't be a revolt.  They like sharp things and I sleep soundly.  ;)

2.  European restaraunts are still painfully stingy with water refills.  Also, they think highly of their cooking as I can't find salt and pepper on a table to save my life.  

3.  My shower head is still possessed.  I haven't had two hands free to wash my hair in months.  

4.  I've produced hardly any painting while here.  I am overwhelmed and incredibly distracted by all that I've seen.  I've had no time to reflect and feel like all the preparations I made to come here and work were for naught.  I feel like my work is at an impass.  The students begrudge me because I think they wanted to witness the creative act.  Sadly, they are but its not what they expected, a little discussed facet of a visual artists' process.   I am starting to shed this guilt though as I know it will make sense when I have a real studio back in my life.  

5.  I'm ready for hugs.  Lots and lots of hugs.  Wine and Tapas don't keep you warm long enough.

6.  I've been wondering if my dogs dream of me like I dream of them.   

Visit to the Motherland

   

 

This weekend's adventure led me and two students all the way to London.  In case you were wondering Fergie was sung more than one occasion.  There were many firsts on this occasion, the most important a stay in the most luxurious hostel London had to offer.  We arrived late-ish on Thursday evening very excited but still stinging from the ATM exchange rate at one and a half the rate of the Euro.  We hopped a long 45 minute train to the London Underground, masterfully maneuvering it like pros, since we are now, or Angela is to put it more accurately.  Welcomed by a delightful Irish woman at our King's Cross hostel we had no idea what we were in store for.  Well honey, let me tell you.  Our palatial 40 square foot room had bunks galore with not a single window in sight as we were housed deep inside a cavernous basement.  Everything felt wet, including my clothing in the morning.  Paper buckled and the five dollar towel never dried.  The room reeked of death, welcoming you with smell as soon as you set foot in the space and we were situated directly underneath the hostel pub, literally underneath.  All those feet, all that tromping.   That evening, the mechanics of the building swished and moved, thumping overhead creating a musical overture and it mixed with the howl of laughing, drunken Brits.  I kept thinking something was crawling on me.  The morning welcomed me to a communal shower with a 6 inch gap to the hall, standing dirty water and no room to get my clothes on.  Oh, and best part?  Co-Ed bathrooms to share with men who didn't bother to shut the door whilst peeing!  It was a commune minus the friends and plus the intimacy!    I kept laughing at how comical the whole thing was, as soon as I got up until when I left- like a crazy lady in fact.  I may have been hysterical from the lack of sleep.  I've grown accustomed to not sleeping on these trips.  It's amazing how my sense of humor has changed to adapt with misery these days.  I will say though, that the location was epically convenient and a little pub overhead?  A smart end to the day.

      Morning started us out at the Starbucks around the corner and a properly pumped mocha that I haven't been able to get in Spain.  Divine Heaven.  We sped through the tube, minding the gap every time and went straight for Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery.  Most all of the major museums are free in London!  Hallelujah because it's the most expensive city I've been to yet, including Paris.  A metro ride, just one mind you, costs 4.80 pounds which is like 7 bucks.  Chomp right into the ass of my budget.  But Fergie kept singing.  London, London Bridge y'all.  The National Gallery was so very good, jam packed with wonderful must see, art historical gems.  Holbein and Caravaggio, Van Eyck and Botacelli, Oh My!  We walked from there to the Victoria Embankments garden, truly British and lovely in its' Victorian garden-ey nook-ness before heading to an authentic contemporary Mexican restaurant highly ranked amongst Londoners.  They nickel and dime you at these restaraunts charging you for water, rice and no tortilla chips y'all unless you pay 6 pounds for them!  But hey, it was good.  No complaints about the food, just the price.  ;).  OK maybe the portions were too small too.

     We walked the Thames gawking at the houses of Parliment and Westminster Abbey, peaking into the tiny little church butting against Westminster.  The big deal church was closed due to Easter sadly.  We strolled past Buckingham Palace pushing our faces through the gates and taking photos of the fabulous fountain.   After, Tate Britain had more in store.  If you haven't been, it is a stately and quintessentially British collection, the Waterhouse's and Rosetti's kicked my butt but the Henry Scott Tuke?, a serious feast of flesh there. All very stiff in the upper lip but a good showing of artists from Britain's past.  We trucked it to the London Eye shortly after hoping to get a good view of the city, which we did as well as a moment's reprieve from the rain.  We capped off the late afternoon with a walk along the Thames to see the Tate Modern, my favorite so far.  The show included a linear chronological showcase of Tate's collection from Dali to Bacon to Condo and a well worth it admission fee to the Marlene Dumas show that rattled me to the core-getting my painting juices flowing.  It may have shocked wee Angela a bit but I was unphased, very excited about the works on display.  The crowd in attendance seemed very on point too, lots of artsy types to refresh my dry eyes.   For dinner on the way back we had incredibly mediocre Chinese with a quick hard ale in the hostel pub, an awkward conversation with a North Country Brit wanting to talk about bodily fluids and quickly politely excusing ourselves heading to bed, the plush haven mentioned earlier.

      The morning shone brightly as we hoped another train with tired eyes to see the Globe Theatre.  We stumbled onto an under bridge market that delighted, a small cathedral where Shakespeare's brother (that's what I typed, brother) is buried, walked to a great Christian Marklay show at White Cube Gallery and the Fashion and textile museum to see a Thea Porter exhibition.  Yes, me in a fashion museum looking at all things fashion.  I wore a v-neck no label sweater, skinny-ish jeans and red puma to the affair.  Look out for my line of fashion hats in the fall.  After a delicious coffee, we hopped another metro line to Saint Paul's Cathedral,  saw the exterior and balked at the 18 pound price tag and scoped out the tower bridge and its small fortress tower directly following.  We had another mediocre lunch of British fare, mine a beef pie and about six kilos of French fries.  The afternoon consisted of tickets on the ground floor of Wicked at the Theatre.  It was fabulous and the performance was great.  We munched on gummy worms and were transfixed.  That evening, we had Indian food that was truly worth the wait with another delightful student also in town.

      Side note, I now have a mold induced head cold from the hostel.  No one has seen the movie around me here but all I could think of was how torture was the only thing missing from our stay.  I'm back in the hotel Espana and I blew a fuse in the ancient electrical box resulting in absolutely no electricity or wifi for my room.  I couldn't be happier to be back.  The shower was hot and private, AND I had a window to open to let the steam out.  Happy Easter!