On the Blog again...

Lame title, I know...

I have been away for quite some time now

Away from home and away from the blog.

I am still in California working at Diablo Canyon. We are supposed to be wrapping this job up pretty soon, but as of today we are still not finished. I am slated to be here until there are less than 50 people on site which should translate to somewhere around April the 3rd.

As for today… I have been sitting in the office for about 10 hours now. And I am going to be here for about 2 more. As long as there are people on site we are supposed to maintain 24hr coverage. So I am sitting and reading Small House blogs and chasing interesting rabbits around the internet. I am here for support and documenting any possible safety related event that might occur. Which means everyone on site is striving to make sure that I have nothing to do. And thus far, they are doing a good job of it.

I am getting to the point where I am just ready to leave, not just today but for good. The real reason that I don’t like to have a “real” job is that I don’t like to see the inside of the same place and do the exact same thing every day. I like change and opportunities for creativity. This job has ventured into the realms of drudgery…

For a while I was able to see outside the fences. I held my head up as I was walking in to work. I caught a whiff of the fresh breeze blowing in off of the water or of the earthy wind that came down out of the canyons as the temperature changed and I was able to transcend this reality. Yet as the job has progressed and the level of urgency has risen with every completed evolution; this place is literally humming with anticipation of completion. People are focused on leaving and getting out of here; and yet the job is not finished, and I am still here.

But I am still trying. I am trying to remember that this is a good place to be. The weather has been unbelievably nice. Well, except for today. It poured rain for the first 5 hours of the day (I woke up at 3.) and then it slacked off and cleared up leaving the world feeling fresh and clean and about 25 degrees cooler. There is a brisk wind blowing around the eaves of the building that I am in causing a “Wrooowh…nrwooowh” sound. The wind threatens to tear your hat off or the papers from your hands every time you walk out the door.

Did I ever tell you that there are hundreds of sheep and goats on the hills in the meadows bordering the plant? Yep. They turned them loose in here about 2 or 3 weeks ago when the grass started getting a little high. It is the way that the plant controls the weeds and grass on the hillside. Otherwise they would have to figure out a way to control the growth of the grass on a 30% grade. Rather than pave it or invent a crazy technological mower (which is more what I would expect from a nuke plant) they went old school and bought some sheep and goats. You can hear them making sheep and goat noises if you walk behind the turbine building. There are tons of little ones jumping around and acting like they should. Maybe I should go back and watch them for a while.

This is getting a little long. I think I might hunt up some pictures to post just for fun.

Thanks for stopping by…

But mostly, Stay classy.

c


The plant as seen from a cliff out on the edge of the water.





A generator lying on the floor in the reactor building waiting to be picked up.





The reactor cavity. (No the blue glow is not radiation.)

it's got me

There is something enchanted about California.

As much as i hate to admit it, as much as i am trying to find fault with it, as much as i like home... I must admit it.

It is here, it is palpable.

I watched the Sun set today over the Pacific ocean.
I stood watching from jagged cliffs that stagger directly up out of the water about a hundred feet or so.
The sun grew huge
and slowly, slowly, slowly
slipped over the edge of the world.

Even after it was gone below the horizon,
by some trick of the eye,
it could still be seen.

It was so bright that it shone through the edge of the massive expanse of water that lies just to the west of here.

And as if finally sank
I turned to walk on.
And the other men who had stopped there with me went their way.

And that was on the walk out to my car
in the parking lot as i was leaving work.

There really is something to it.

I can't put a finger on it yet.

But when i do, i'll let you know.

c

Blog Redux

Well, It has been a while...

I am sitting in my "apartment" in California writing a little bit just to be doing. It is about 9:42 here on a Saturday the 9th of January, and i am working again... this time it is at Diablo canyon Nuclear power plant.

The weather here in California is unbelievable this time of year. It was in the 70's today and it was sunny and clear and really nice. I miss winter... a little... One season makes me appreciate the others, but it seems like i have skipped winter this year. It does get foggy here and it gets rainy and maybe a little windy, but in all actuality, i don't think it really counts as winter.

There are tons of things that i could write, but work for the most part is nothing to write home about. It is mostly drudgery intermixed with a good yarn here and there from the people that i work with. There have definitely been some good ones... some of them true.

Perhaps that is the direction that i should go with this, telling the stories of the men that i work with for all to hear.

I Promise that i will tell more about where i am and what i am doing before this is over with but this is just a little post to get me warmed back up to the idea of sharing some of what is going on with me these days.

I'll throw in a picture or two just to liven things up

I'll talk to you soon
c

So I made it to the U.S.

I am sitting here in Chicago in C.J.’s apartment doing absolutely nothing and enjoying the fact that it is about 70 degrees for a high today here.

Yesterday, after writing my little blurb on the long and arduous plane flight I tried to sleep a bit and failed, so I settled down and watched the new Indiana Jones movie. I was extremely tired but could not make myself fall asleep as is often the case with me on planes. We arrived a bit late to Philly. I am not sure what time it was in local time. I think it was about four o’clock.

(I am having a hard time writing because the T.V. is on and there is not another room where i can write, so i have to stay in here where the T.V. is. I think i hate the television.)


I was standing around waiting for my bag to pop up out of the luggage carousel and watching all the poor schmucks who were getting pulled aside by the customs officials. So my bag pops up, I pull it off the carousel, and I am immediately met by customs official who asks me a few of the usual questions and asks for my customs form. He scribbled something on it and told me to go to lane four of the hand-search baggage lines.

I went and jumped in line with the rest of the folks. Most were backpack toting comfortably dressed people like myself. It was like a who’s who of the people who look like they might be carrying weed mixed in with the actual random search victims. I found out from the officer who was searching my bag that I was actually pulled out because one of the dogs downstairs that was sniffing bags actually pegged my bag as containing a large amount of money. Yes, they actually have a dog that sniffs for money. I got a pretty good laugh out of that. Maybe dirty clothes folded in a plastic bag smell like money because I definitely had nothing that even resembled money other than perhaps a few books.

The officer was actually really pleasant about the whole thing, which was nice for a change. He actually thanked me for being pleasant as well as I was leaving. My bag definitely suffered from the ordeal… I had perfectly packed the bag over a period of about two hours and ended up having to stuff everything back inside in about 2 minutes. It didn’t all fit of course, so I ended up having to throw a few things in my carry on. Luckily I had room.

I made it to Chicago without incident. I sat next to a really nice guy named Steve who works for a company that created a machine that puts nanoparticles in paint to make it smoother.

After a long string of train and bus rides I made it to the Hopleaf where CJ works. I had some really nice food and hung out for a bit and then got back to CJ’s house and passed right out. He stepped outside for a cigarette and I was gone so fast that I didn’t know when he came in.

It was a great way to eliminate the possibility of jet-lag. (I hope.)

I’ll be home on Friday.


c

on the plane

Sitting on the plane…

They keep coming over the intercom and saying all of the usual crap that they always say. We have made it to customs declaration forms. To me this is the most unpleasant part of traveling… the sales pitches, the advertisements, and the red tape. It’s kind of like commercials on T.V. and having to pay the cable bill. There’s nothing enjoyable about those parts. Except maybe being amuse by a commercial now and then.

I really didn’t come home with much in the way of souvenirs. I guess I’m not a souvenir type of person… that is until I have the money to buy and ship a set of those five-hundred-year-old doors or something like that. Then I will be a souvenir person. I like the sights and the smells and the memories. I tried to look for some seeds on the jasmine and the night queen that blooms every night, but no luck. Either I don’t know what their seeds look like or I couldn’t find them.

I did grab a few seeds for mom off of some flowers that I thought she would like. I rode my bike out to this old farmhouse where they had a few things like that. Actually in the process I broke my bike again. After about a 20 kilometer ride the handle bars were feeling a little shaky again… then when I tried to ride to town fully loaded (45 pounds on my back and about 20 on the front) I broke them off again, all but the bolt. So, frustrated, I walked up to a kid on the street and said “Hey, you want a bike?” He shrugged. I put the kickstand down and said “Well, it’s yours.” And walked away. Maybe he’ll use it, and maybe he’ll sell it for ten bucks. Either way, I don’t really mind.

I walked the 3 miles into Burriana to the café and gave Jorge his keys. He wasn’t planning on picking me up til’ something like 1 am, and I was not ready to wait that long. He felt bad for me I guess because he packed me a lunch and called his mom to take me the last 2 miles to the train station.

I arrived in Valencia sometime around 8. I walked to a hostel that I had seen before called “Indigo” and got their last bed. I should have just asked if I could pay five bucks to put my stuff in their luggage room because I didn’t really sleep. I was sharing a room with two French girls who spoke little English and less Spanish, Sandra and Claudette, and they were in and out all night til’ about 3. Not that I was sleeping anyway, I was reading some British crime novel that I found laying around. I ended up dozing somewhere for about 10 minutes I guess, but I was to keyed up to be out of there.

I went down to the front desk about 440 and asked him to call me a cab. The cab driver took his sweet time getting there so I stood and talked to the desk guy for about 20 minutes. Finally about ten after five I left the hostel. The cab driver, like all Spaniards, drove like a bat out of hell. I guess he knew he was dilly-dallying and wanted to make up for it. After I arried to the airport I realized that there really was no hurry. The place was deserted and it is very small. I walked right in, checked in, went through security and was waiting on my flight to board in about 15 minutes flat.

I forced myself to stay awake in Valencia, but not so in Madrid. I arrived at 7:25, a full half hour early, and went and found a spot that was out of the way with no speaker overhead and became dead to the world until my alarm went off at 11:30. I wandered a very log distance down to my gate just in time to board… and here I am with Spanish version of a young Elizabeth Taylor to my right and some Americans to my left. Listening to their babble, I can already tell that I am going to miss Spain…

Written around 2pm Spain time Tuesday.

One day.

One day til’ departure…

It’s going to be a short one today.

I didn’t pre-write before I left the house because I wanted coffee before I started trying to think. So I am here at the usual café with a limited supply of battery.

“At the usual café?” you say… “I thought you were having to leave your apartment and move to a different house…” Well, that makes two of us. I was instructed to be ready to leave the flat at 12 noon, and round about eight thirty in the evening I got a call telling me to stay another night. Since the new renters, oil refinery workers from Cadiz, arrived at about 4 and moved into the only decently furnished rooms, I slept in a closet size room off the kitchen ( I think it is supposed to be a pantry) where Jorge had Ivan put up a cot. It’s a good thing I actually love sleeping on cots, because I actually enjoyed it.

Today finds me here in the café in the usual chair that I frequent having my usual cortado enjoying the cloudy noontime lull here in the port. I was planning on going to the beach to sharpen up my Mediterranean tan before my six fifty departure tomorrow morning, but alas, it is overcast and about 80 degrees, ah well.

I am considering ditching town on my own and heading to Valencia, getting a hostel, doing some looking around, and catching a cab tomorrow at 5 a.m. Jorge continues to volunteer to take me to the airport… He say “Oh, Crak, I am so berry sorry, I only want you to be happy. For you have make me no problem here. You are the less problem of all my teachers. So if you want me take you I take you. But I am to be berry berry tired of the work until one or two in the morning, but if it make you happy I take you , I want you to be happy because I am happy with you.” He likes to lay it on thick and drive me into the ground until I don’t have time to be mad, I just want off the phone. I am just not sure that I can depend on him to do what he says…Enough of that. I’m not mad or anything, just tired of playing games.

In other news, I had a great time last night. I was sitting on my porch reading a book that I don’t really care for at about eight forty-five when my phone rang. I was in the middle of being irritated and sullen so I answered the phone with an irritated sullen “ho-la.” It was Dino my Brazilian friend from the café. He was calling to invite me to come eat at his house; he had cooked some Brazilian family-style food (aka “in a big pot”) and was wondering if I’d like to try it. I rose up out of my funk, put on some clean clothes and wandered down to his house, which is in building 24 on the fifth floor on the same street as my building.

We had some cucumber appetizers and then fell to on the real meal. It was rice with a crazy chicken, carrot, potato, garlic, and onion curry-ish dish with mustard in it. And it was absolutely fantastic. I found out Dino comes from a family of eleven of which he is the youngest, so cooking is never done in small portions, and leftovers never last long. I got ridiculously full.


Dino on the terrace.


Afterwards we sat on the terrace which overlooks the harbor like mine, but which has a much better view because it is on the 5th floor, and talked about his life in Brazil and politics and such. Then we went wandering around the port because we were both much too full to sit still. I’m sure it was amusing to the Spanish people we passed to over hear the mix of Spanish, Portuguese, and English through which we communicate as we walked along.



The harbor view from the fifth floor

I went to bed a bit early last night, hoping to get some rest stored up for my travels tomorrow… I’m not sure if it worked or not. I guess time will tell.

Well, I am off to the house to gather up my things and decide what to do next.

Hasta pronto

c

Three in a row.

Three days in a row…

I guess I am making up for lost time. And my senses are on high alert because I know that my days here are drawing to a close.

I went down to the beach today. It is really interesting how as soon as the calendar turns to September, it is like a switch flips and no one goes to the beach and every one leaves the “port” part of the town. All of the people who usually live in Burriana move back from their “beach” houses and the patio furniture gets moved inside and the inside furniture gets covered with sheets until next year. Today on the beach I think I saw about 20 people total… counting the lifeguards. It was completely deserted. The water is colder, it’s cloudy in the afternoon, and the sounds are only the sounds of the sea instead of the sounds of flocking humanity. I enjoyed it.

I walked out into the water up to my neck and shivered for a bit under the cloudy grey sky. I spotted a jellyfish floating about ten feet away so I eased toward the shore. Once there I asked the lifeguards who were walking up the beach if there were jellyfish out here. They said there were, but they were all dead because the water is too cool for them. I don’t know if a person can be stung by a dead jellyfish or not, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I sat on my towel on the empty beach for a while, and then decided to go for a walk. There is really something magnetic about walking along the side of the ocean and contemplating the massive body of water that is caressing your legs and feet. I walked along and thought of nothing mostly, just letting my thoughts wander like I do in bed in the minutes before I fall asleep. Just random thoughts, incomplete, flitting through my head as I stared of toward the horizon and occasionally down at the sand. Something about the sea makes me do that.

I think I bear definite marks of my genetic heritage in the desires and urges of my guts. I love a cloudy day, a windy sea, and green rolling forested hills. It’s almost as if my DNA still remembers fondly the British Isles, although I have never been there.

I am realizing that I have missed out on some things by living rather isolated outside the small town of Alquerias. I am truly enjoying interacting with the people who live near me here at the beachfront. I have met more people and spoken more Spanish than I would have believed possible just two weeks ago. I spent al of last night with a Brazilian named Dino who showed me around a bit here in the port. We went to some local hangouts and met some of his friends and just walked around and chatted for about 4 hours last night. He speaks little to no English, and supposedly poor Spanish, but between the two of us we talked about everything from fishing, to our homes, to political policy in the Americas. It was a good time.

I was awakened at about 11 this morning (yes I was still sleeping) but a banging on the door… In came Jorge, my boss, Ivan, the repairman, and a cleaning lady whose name I do not know. They proceeded to turn the house upside-down cleaning and moving things around. They tried to rook me into helping, but I locked myself in the bathroom for a shower, locked myself in my room to get ready, and then left for some lunch and some coffee by about 1. Not least of all because I was a bit put out about the invasion of privacy. I ate a leisurely lunch at “A Bordo” or “aboard” just down the street. They have a daily menu of two courses with bread and dessert for around 7 euros. Today I had an asparagus salad made with pickled white asparagus and a fish stew that I think was made from mackerel, shrimp, mussels, and other related things. I wanted to make sure I gave Jorge and company enough time to finish so I stopped in at Tony’s L’arctic café for a café cortado and read the Spanish futbol paper. I arrived back at the house at around four and rested from all of my hard labor…ok, I just rested because I could. Then I rode my bike the half-mile down to the beach… and that was my day. Now i'm sitting on the balcony watching it rain...

I have to say, it was pretty nice.

c




A "MAN" brand truck

I'd drive one of these if they had them in the States.

Jorge, Katie and I cheezing for the camera at the old house.
Jorge as he usually looks.

Day is done

The day is done.

That phrase sparked a new thought in my head this evening. It is a sentiment that I have felt, but have not put into words since I have been here. I have realized that what I miss most in my basic day-to-day understanding and use of this new language is the innate poetic feel and connotation of a phrase. I am lucky to get away with understanding the gist of an entire conversation. There is absolutely no way that I could feel the poetry of this language while by brain is occupied with basic understanding.

So to say “The day is done” imparts a certain flavor or feeling to the end of the day, at least for me, and the ability to invoke in the mind of another human the selfsame sentiment that I am feeling with a simple phrase is something that I miss.

New topic:

In these last couple of weeks I have been jerked around more than a five-year-old at a family reunion.

First I was living in a house where full on remodeling was taking place for five days, then I actually packed my things and moved to a different place, upon my arrival I pulled beds and desks and chairs out of storage to try and make a cozy habitation for myself for the last 10 days or so of my stay, next I learned (yesterday) that I will have to be out of this place by Sunday at noon because other renters to whom Jorge has promised a place to stay are moving in then, (I’m beginning to feel a little unimportant at this point.) so today I was awakened by the incessant ringing of the downstairs front door buzzer. This apartment building is not truly soundproof so I hear other people’s buzzers ringing all the time. After about the fifteenth time I got up and answered the buzz. It was Ivan. Ivan is Jorge’s personal handy man and go-to-guy for moving furniture and fixing things. So as I got ready for work this morning Ivan, who is Ukrainian, and his assistant were moving in couches and chairs and things to make this apartment habitable for someone who is paying to have an apartment. So Sunday I have to leave. I don’t know where I am going. Probably Jorge’s house or some perhaps some crappy unfurnished place where I will be given a closet and a blanket.

Yesterday I got paid for the first time as well. The entirety of my earnings in one lump sum was very unimpressive. Monica (the business manager) told me that I have been the teacher who has given them the least amount of problems… perhaps I just take too much crap from people. I have learned, at least in this situation, the only way to get what you want, what you need to survive, is to make a noise long enough and loud enough that they cant stand it any longer and give you what you need so you will shut up. Kind of like a 3-year-old would. I saw the other teachers demanding and nagging to get what they wanted from these people that I have been working for, but that is not my style. Evidently it should have been. Jorge had all of the accoutrements to make this little house livable all along, I just didn’t nag him enough for him to have it brought down here. I think in the future when I am faced with a similar situation I will just dissociate myself from the people that behave this way.

All in all they are very happy with me as an employee. I taught all the classes I was given, I went everywhere I was asked, and all of my students were satisfied with their classes. And I will write truthful reviews for Los Naranjos on all of the English teaching forums. I’m sure the lure of Spain will still bring people here, but they should at least arrive informed.

As for Spain… I think I will come back sometime. How soon or late depends on what happens with life at home, but I have not seen nearly enough of this country. I had high hopes of traveling around the whole of the country and seeing the cities and the mountains and the Basque country, but it was not to be. If I wake up early enough I may hop on a train to Barcelona tomorrow… perhaps.

The bike man did me a good turn today. I have been kind of down on the bike man since I have been here. I think he just didn’t like Jeff and since I always went in with Jeff I was cast in the same mold. But yesterday my handlebars on my bike broke off… if you have ever had this happen it is not too bad once you are moving because you can ride with no hands, but if you are trying to start or stop with just a nut and bolt between you and the ground or a car… well lets just say it can get a little peligroso. So I rode/walked my bike to the bike man’s shop in Alquerias today and showed him my problem. He said joder! Which is the common slightly vulgar form of disgust used here, and said that he could get me a new part or he could hacer un punto which is “make a point” I had no idea what he meant, but he had me follow him to the back of his shop. He pulled this ancient looking thing off of the wall and while I was still trying to figure out what was going on he started welding my handlebars on. No mask, no hood, no nothing. POW! “There you go, that’ll cost less” he said. I asked him how much he wanted for his one-minute weld… He made the right move and said I could pay him nothing or whatever I wanted. Always the best move with me. He probably meant it was free, but I gave him a five euro note and rode out happy.

So, here I sit at a little café half a block from my house.

And the day is done, and my work here is finished, and I’ll be home in a week, and, for different reasons, I am looking forward to it. Although I am sure I will long for the simplicity of being ecstatic just to have understood an entire conversation, and before long the ability to go into a store and get just what I want or to have small talk with anyone I please will wear off.

Maybe Ross will buy a house here instead of just talking about it, and then I can come visit more often.

I know this post has a bit of a feeling of finality, but I am not stopping writing just yet; that just happens to be how I am feeling right now. (Doggone it I should have saved a sunset picture for this post)

c

it's been a while...

Tonight is Wednesday night; September has begun. Today was the fourth. I just returned a while ago from dinner with Vicente and his wife Rosa. I apologize to all of you who check my blog often enough to realize that it has been a while since I have written. I have been in a state of flux here with moving to a different house and such. I have had no internet connection near here and my phone has been out of range/ out of minutes.

It is very different for me living here in the port. I am right on the main drag that runs along between the port and the rest of the town. There are lots of little cafés and ice cream shops here on this street and a lot more people than in Alquerias. For the first time since I have been here I am quite alone and surrounded by people who speak very little or no English. (except for Vicente´) It has helped immensely already with my confidence in Spanish. I have found that I now can make some small talk when I go to buy lunch or have a coffee, and lately I feel compelled to do so.

I was strolling along the waterfront last night (I think), and a waiter came out of one of the shops and was trying to hustle me into a seat. I was in the mood to be hustled I guess because I let him. I told him I had just moved to the beachfront and had been living in Alquerias. I watched as he took stock of me and my accent; then he asked me if I knew Nanny Congorno, which I do. His name was Tony and it turns out he was the owner of the place and we have a friend in common. I ended up sitting and talking to him for an hour or so about random stuff before he closed for the evening. It was very cool. Today I stopped back in and had a coffee at his place rather than any of the others. Evidently he is pretty well known for being an all-around good guy because his place is paked every afternoon and well into the evening. I think I’ll be a repeat customer until I leave.

As I’m sitting here writing, I am realizing that quite a bit has happened since last I filled you all in on my daily doings… All last weekend I had two flat tires on my bike. I ran off the road a bit and into the grass and dirt as I was trying to put away my camera, answer my cell-phone, and dodge a car all while riding with no hands. Yep. Bad idea. The picture turned out pretty good I guess, the phone call was successful, I dodged the car, and got two punctured tires in the process…I ran over about a hundred sand burrs that just filled my inner tube with holes… So I walked the last 2 miles home in sandals… that was Saturday I believe.

We were supposed to be out of the house on Sunday, technically. We didn’t really get out until Monday afternoon/evening though. I had to load all my things in Katie’s van to bring them out to the port, and I also had to wait for the bike man to decide to be open so I could buy some new tubes for my tires. The owner was very cool about it all. He was in and around the house all weekend working on things and painting for the next renters. Katie and I were in and out of the house and always joking with him about something… It was all in Spanish…so, at least I think we were joking. He told us that if we ever wanted to come back to this part of Spain, we were always welcome to stay in one of his houses.

Katie made it out of here on Monday afternoon sometime, headed for Sevilla. The las I heard from her, she was a few hours away and had just finished swimming in a clear cold river… I am sort of wishing that I had given my notice and ridden south with her. Ah, well.

I was a bit under the weather on Monday, but since I have been fine. I have no refrigerator here in this apartment, which Jorge, my boss said he would remedy… but nothing yet. So I have been eating fresh bread and fresh fruit, and only buying enough for each day. I guess it’s not really a problem, come to think about it. There is a corner grocery all of about half a block away… Its just nice to have a cold drink occasionally and not have to walk and get it.

The weather has changed here. It is pleasant and sunny during the early part of the day, changing to quite hot for about an hour just after noon, and then the afternoon has been a bit cloudy with a stiff breeze off of the water. I have been working in the mornings this week. It is nice to be out in the cool part of the day, but the time I would usually go to the beach has been cloudy and windy. No sunbathing for me. I was hoping to show back up in the states with a tan so dark that my mother wouldn’t recognize me… but it looks like I’ll just show up looking like I did when I left… minus about 10 pounds.

I want to know more about the passive heating and cooling of Mediterranean architecture. I have no air conditioning, but the house is never hot, and there is nearly always a breeze. Perhaps I should ask Vicente’s wife Rosa, she’s an architect.

I’ve got lots more to talk about, but I feel sort of like someone who keeps saying things just to keep you on the phone.

I have quite a bit of time to myself these days so I might write a lot. You just might not get to see it until I find some Internet.

Until then
c





Fran Pretending he is shy.
















With Nando his brother in their house.












the good ol' T.N.A. ambulance.

What a difference a day makes

Just yesterday I was on the phone with my mother telling her that I would have bought a ticket to leave here early if only it would not have cost me an extra two-hundred and fifty dollars. Tonight I am ready to stay for another month.

I received a call today about 6 o’clock from Jorge, my boss, telling me that I had a new class. “Great…” says the little guy in the red leotard on my left shoulder “…just what we need.” I am to have a class at eight thirty on most every night at the beach until I leave. Eight-thirty, a twenty minute ride from the house, almost every night for the remainder of my time here… But next he tells me that starting sometime this weekend that I am moving to an apartment at the beach-front, and that the class will be only two floors above where I will be staying… Ok, sounding better… And next he tells me that I will be working with an adult practicing English conversation and eating dinner with his family afterwards. Awesome.

Today I got Katie (whose big nice camper van is back on the road in preparation for moving to Sevilla) to take me down to the beach about eight thirty. I walked up to the apartment building and pressed the button for the fourth floor. “Si?” says the voice on the intercom. “Soy un Profesor.” I say. “Ah..” is the reply. I took the very small elevator to the fourth floor. (all of the elevators in apartments here are tiny.) I knocked on the door just as it opened. In front of me was a very nice looking Spanish couple with big smiles and outstretched hands. I shook hands with Vincente and his wife, and was ushered through their very comfortable and well furnished apartment onto the balcony which overlooks the harbor and the Club Nautica at the port. Vincente immediately began speaking to me in excellent English inquiring about basic personal info and exchanging pleasantries. I learned that he is a businessman who works in a very specialized field and travels all over Europe and occasionally in the U.S. with his work. I will not go into the details of his work, but it is related to bio-chemistry. He often converses over the phone and at conferences in English and wants to increase his conversational skills and simply practice his English. He has a conference in Birmingham coming up in September, hopefully I can be helpful in the short time we have together. It was very enjoyable, sitting on the balcony talking about whatever came to mind, and I look forward to continuing to do so over the next couple of weeks.

Then came dinner with the family. Vincente has two sons and a daughter. I met his two sons, Pablo (17) and Vincente Jr.(19), who drifted in from soccer practice about nine thirty or so. I have not yet met his daughter (14). Dinner was absolutely great. I started with a warm chicken soup, followed that with salmorejo (which is a chilled tomato and garlic soup native to Cordoba), next came the lomo de cerdo or pork tenderloin with an apple reduction sauce, cauliflower, and, of course, bread. We sat and had some fresh fruits after dinner, peaches, grapes, and plums, and chatted some more. I spoke mostly in English to them and Vincente graciously translated. Hopefully as I become a bit more comfortable, I will use a bit more of my Castellano with confidence.

Vincente Jr. and Pablo took me home after dinner in Vincente’s blue and white Mini Cooper. It was the first time I have ridden in one.

It was a great evening and I am anticipating more evenings like it in the next couple of weeks. It definitely helped get me excited about being here again.

I really should be preparing for my classes tomorrow… I have class starting at 1030 and I only have a one hour break until 630… and I am not yet prepared, but I had put down some words while the evening was still fresh in my memory.

Thank you
c

A short note

Friday.

Another week down.

Another room mate gone on Sunday.

Jeff has been packing bags and getting rid of non-essentials today. He is heading back to Florida on Sunday... Madrid Barajas Airport is abuzz right now with camera crews and investigators as a result of the crash this week that killed about 150 people. So flying out of there should be interesting.

I had no classes until 5 today so i just laid low around the house until i had to go to Burriana. Yesterday he and I went to Valencia after our classes so that he could buy some touristy junk for people back home. I guess i should do that. Although i am tempted to try and find some unique things as opposed to the red shirt with the black bull silhouette that says Espana!... Although most people would probably would rather just have the shirt than a Spanish mortar and pestle for their kitchen.

Valencia was cool. It is the first time I have really been there in the daylight. The bustle of a city of 1 million people has its appeals. Although honestly it doesn't feel like a city that big. It looks that big from the window of the train, but it's like any older large city. It was once a collection of smaller villages that just kind of linked up around a central square or harbor. The personality partially reminded me of an East-coast older city. Although the "Older" in Valencia is much older than in the States. It is the type of city where you don't have own a car or even leave a four block radius to get the essentials for the week.

The architecture was very interesting as well. From the stone paved plazas to the enormous towers that used to be part of the city wall... It was nice. I am definitely going to have to go back and do a bit more exploring.

I went in the cathedral there as well. It was awesome. I am always blown away by the size of old cathedrals and the workmanship. I wasn't even going to go in, but Jeff came back out and insisted that i needed to see it. It felt good inside. It was nothing like the touristy Duomo in Florence. It had a very positive "vibe" for lack of a better word. I wandered around for a bit and looked at the vaults and the alcoves and paintings and things... And then i saw what is supposedly the left arm of St. Vincent the Martyr... Yep. Sitting right there in glass and gold case under a really beautiful relief sculpture in alabaster there was an arm. Although if it was his left, then the thumb was on the wrong side, or his fingers were bent backwards.

Supposedly St. Vincent was imprisoned and tortured in all kinds of heinous ways and killed in 304 under the emperor Diocletian. Then they tried to feed him to the vultures but a crow defended him. Then they tried to throw his body in the ocean but it kept coming back to the shore. Eventually an old woman buried him, and somehow parts of his body ended up in Saragossa, Portugal, Valencia, and Paris... I think Martyrs might have had more than one body for all the parts they spread around...

But the fact remains that there is most certainly an arm in a gold and glass box on the back of the church in Valencia.

I haven't uploaded my pictures to the computer yet... and I forgot to bring my camera cord to the office with me.

So pictures will be forthcoming.

But you can click here if you want to see the arm.

C

the new eyes

Lets see, my last post was Wednesday of last week. So I’ve got a bit of catching up to do… What has happened since then…

Ah, yes Thursday. Thursday of last week I was abruptly awakened at 10:30 by a phone call. I went to bed rather late I think, although I don’t actually recall. Nevertheless I was sleeping in. My alarm had gone off at 10 and as is my custom, I punched snooze or turned it off or something. So I got a call at 10:30. I half expected it to be someone from back home who was up really late and decided to call, but no, it was Monica, one of my bosses asking if I remembered that I had class at 10:30. I told her that I did not. Evidently she had told me when I was sick the week before and I had very little recollection of the conversation. So I showed up at 10:45, having just woken up and looking like it, to teach an eight-year-old. He was pretty easy because I had luckily printed out worksheets for another class the night before, then I had his mother in class at 11:30. She is an English teacher in Castellon, so it was not difficult to communicate with her or teach her because she mostly wanted practice speaking English, then another at 12:30 with Jose, my Madrileno student. So I got a break from 1:30 to 3 and had to roll out to the beach for a 3:30 class, Then back to Burriana for my 5-6:30, then to the grocery for some veggies, then back home just in time to teach another student at 7:30. All that to say Thursday was a busy day. Luckily, Friday was a very chilled out day. It was a national holiday; and nothing was open; and we had no classes.

Friday Katie and I went for a ride around the surrounding area, invaded some old abandoned house places and explored a bit, found a broken down pomegranate tree and some date palms, picked some grapes off of an unattended fence around an old house called “La Salmantina”, trespassed down a long driveway to check out a cool old houseplace and stumbled on fields of artichokes and tomatoes hidden in the midst of the orange groves, and just generally looked around a bit. I had no idea that artichokes turned into bright purple flowers when they are actually mature. I have eaten quite a few since I have been here. I think that I will try and remember to plant some in next years garden.














It was a good day. I covered lot of ground, got a little dirty and little scratched up, and got a bit of the good kind of tired. That night I taught Katie and refreshed Jeff’s memory on how to play Texas No-limit Hold-Em’… We had a few hours of hanging out on the patio and playing with pennies, and I got my butt kicked by two people who never play poker. But you know what they say…You teach a man to fish and he might strangle you with the line…

Saturday, after sleeping in until some embarrassing hour, I got up and pretty much just lounged around the house, cooked some good food, and watched the Olympics. I don’t get to see a whole lot of the games unless a Spaniard is competing, but it’s still fun. Saturday night was a lunar eclipse here. I don’t know if it was back in the States or not. Katie and I went out walking about dusk with Jenn the Canadian, who lives in Alquerias with her husband Nanny, ( I mentioned them a few weeks back) and her daughter Sira who is about 18 months old. We walked around until the eclipse peaked about eleven o’clock or so. It turned about ¾ of the moon a dark purple red color. I took some pictures, but they are not much to look at. Sunday was Jeff’s birthday. He turned 24. So I stayed up until after midnight to wish him “feliz cumpleanos”. I broke out a busted classical guitar that will not stay in tune and played Happy Birthday in English and Spanish along with a few other requests. It was a pretty good day.

Sunday was good too. Saturday night while we were walking around with Jenn we arranged to head to the mountains on Sunday. I have been dying to get to the mountains ever since I have been here. I can see them there every day looming on the horizon only 15 kilometers away. I could get there in under an hour, but then I would not know where to go. But Jenn has a car… ah yes.

We took off about 11 and headed up through Onda toward a town called Ayodar. Onda is a sprawling industrial city with tons of factories and warehouses and such situated right at the foot of the mountains. Ayodar and Fuentes de Ayodar (fountains of Ayodar) are right in the midst of a bunch of hills that look a bit like the Rockies in New Mexico but on a bit smaller scale. I think most of the mountains are between 2500 and 3500 feet, but after coming up from 0.0 feet at sea level they are impressive. What we were hunting was a waterfall that Katie had visited before with her boyfriend Miguel… we actually found the place where the waterfall had been, but Katie had been there about 2 months ago, and now there was no water. I was a bit uneasy about wandering around searching for this waterfall because we were obviously just on a little dirt track road that was surrounded by someone’s well kept orchards and gardens and I felt like I was trespassing. I think that trespassing is a bit different here than at home. Pretty much I think everyone just goes wherever they please until they see a sign that says they should stop.


















We made our way to a public spring place called Fuentes los Chorricos. It was nice… but not really what we were looking for. By this time we were getting hungry so we headed back to Ayodar for some food. We went to a local bar/cafe/ restaurant and ordered up some fresh olives along with a potato and fish dish for lunch from a waiter who looked like he had had a long night on the previous evening. We learned that there had been a festival in town that had culminated the night before with Toros in the streets and a Discomovil that didn’t start til’ 1 am. I am guessing he had gone to bed about 7 or 8 and had to work at noon. There was not a soul at the bar when we sat down on the patio.But people began to filter down the steep steps to the bar, which was on the lower valley side of the mountain village, one by one until it was more or less full by the time we got our food. I think everyone was probably just getting up. It was about 2.

I have noticed that usually when I am doing something in Spain I am the only one. When I wear pants, everyone else has on shorts. When I wear a hat, no one else wears a hat. When I drink coffee, everyone else is drinking beer. Sunday was no exception. I was eating a big meal of fish and potatoes with an ice cold Fanta at about the usual Spanish mealtime, and everyone else was sipping coffee or brandy. And not one of them was eating anything. I think it would take years to truly get into the rhythm of this place.


After lunch we went to another fountain, the Fuente Larga, just outside of town. Everyone comes here and fills up water bottles with this cold clear water. There are 6 pipes just coming out of the mountainside into a white tiled basin that is overhung with fig trees.

Seeing water made us hopeful that the river above the spring might have some water in it. We were really really wanting to go for a swim by this point, so we started following the path up the dry river bed. We walked for about a mile or so and that is all it turned out to be… a dry river bed. We did, however, find some nice blackberries along the way. I ate several and was shocked that they did not taste like the blackberries back home at all. You’d think I would have learned by now that I am in a new place and things are different.

We continued on our search for a swimming hole. Jenn stopped the car at a bridge and she and Sira went for a dip in a small but clear pool near the bridge. Katie walked up the river to look for a swimming hole, and I wandered around in the shade and kept an eye on the car. Katie found a promising looking spot so we all grabbed out gear and walked up to check it out. I could see a couple of people from a distance already swimming in the pool. I was leery about disturbing them, but I was hot and parched and ready to swim. As I was about to get in the water I noticed that the two people were a couple of my former students Daniel and Ana. We were a good 30 kilometers from my town and out in the middle of nowhere, and we just happened to bump into two of the thirty people that I know in this country.


The water was cold cold cold. It was fed by an underground spring and was about 15 feet deep and crystal clear. I thoroughly enjoyed swimming and floating around in it. I sat and talked to Daniel and Ana for a bit about the festival the night before, but when a van laden with about eight teenagers and four parents showed up Daniel and Ana took off. We stuck around for about an hour getting in the cold water and climbing out again to dry in the sun while Sira made friends with practically everyone.


























A town called Ain that we went past.






The ride home was a very contented ride. We had satiated our desire to swim in water that was not salty. We took a scenic route home through some truly amazing little mountain villages. The older members of the population, true to form, were out on their evening paseo. I think they start a bit earlier in the mountains because it gets darker and cooler in the mountains much sooner than on the plain near the beach where I live.








The more I put my feet in the dirt of this place, and get scratched by its thorns, and smell its air, and see its trees and birds, the more I realize that I am not at home. Yet I can understand the people who love this place as their own. I can fathom being connected to the mountains by an invisible thread of familiarity and love. I am captivated by a desire to put my feet on the ridges of those hills and to follow the streams to their sources.

It was a good weekend. Perhaps the best that I have had since I have been here.

I hope this week is as good.

c

Wednesday the 13th

Wednesday the 13th, 9:30 p.m.

Things have been a bit different this week. I started three new classes for the month of August, and they are trying to dump more on me because I am going to be here for the entire month. Luckily, not all the classes will fit. But for now I have class at 12 noon every day in Alquerias, a break from 1:15 to about 3, and then I have to jump on my bike and ride out to the beach-front area for a 3:30 class, at 4:45 I have to jump on my bike and hustle to get back to Burriana for my class at 5 and at 6:30 I am done. So that is what my days look like for the rest of August. I am sure there will be a few more odds and ends tacked on as the other teachers start to fade out.

The exodus has already begun. Today, Joe from Ohio left. He is going to Bordeaux for a few days and then home to Columbus via London, I think. He will be returning in a month or so to Bordeaux to study French and teach some English on the side. If one has the wherewithal to be able to flounder for a bit, I think this type of work would be much more lucrative for a person working independently.






















I have been trying to go to the beach more. I enjoy swimming in the ocean, but for some reason recently I have been neglecting to find my way down to the beach. Joe and I went down there about 7 or so in the evening on Monday. It is the best time to go if you are not interested in getting a pre-skin-cancer tan in about 30 minutes. But usually it is still quite warm and sunny, but not overly so, and the water is not cold. When we got there Monday evening the beach was under a “bandera roja” or red flag. These folks here are used to such tranquil water that when they get a bit of wind and waves over 5 feet tall they shut down all swimming. So I just sat and looked at the water for a while and felt the wind in my face. It was a bit too cloudy for the Spanish folks.



















The sunset on the way home.




I actually ended up going alone to the beach yesterday afternoon, kind of on accident. I was told by my boss to be at a lesson at 1:30 at the beachfront, which was a bit of a stretch because I had a class in Alquerias until 1. I hurried home, grabbed some materials and headed out as quickly as I could. I made it with a minute or two to spare… but I was sweating a bit. It was 43 degrees Celsius… with a heat index of 48…that is somewhere around 109 with a heat index of 119… It was hot, especially at 1 in the afternoon. However, It turned out that somewhere along the way, I got the wrong orders. I was not supposed to be there until 3:30. So I went out to the beach, swam a bit, and baked myself dry. I think it took about 15 minutes to go from completely wet to completely dry. Then I went and sat in a café and had an orange Fanta (which I love here in Spain) and a baguette pizza. I then ordered a café cortado or cut coffee (espresso with milk). The girl at the café repeated my order back to me “CafecortadoSi?” and I agreed. She came out to my table carrying one espresso shot and one espresso shot cut with milk. I then realized that she had said to me “Café y cortado, Si?” … “Coffee and Cut, yes?”, and then I remembered, the café cortado is usually just called a cortado. Ah well. Five bucks for lunch and two coffees isn’t so bad. So I went to my 3:30 class ready to rock…

The 3:30 Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday class is a tough one. I have two girls, 12 and 13. They are painfully shy and timid. I sometimes forget how tough it was to be that age. I can’t imagine what it is like for them… 12 and 13 learning English from a stranger at your own dining room table, and the stranger is a foreign man with a beard that always shows up looking like he just rode 10 kilometers on a bike to get there (which I do) and his breath usually smells like coffee… Yikes.

The girls names are Mar and Paloma… Sea and Dove. (Mar is a very popular name around here.) I got them loosened up a bit today (after trying to get them to learn some boring adjectives) with a reading of the book Stephanie’s Ponytail in English. It was loaned to me by a friend back home that knows a heck of a lot more about teaching than I do, and true to her word, it was a big hit. We didn’t finish, which is good because it gives us something to look forward to tomorrow… And if everything goes well we might just play some UNO at the end of class. That is my reward for the younger ones. We goof off for the last fifteen minutes or so of class. The parents seem to fully understand, and it’s their Euro… so if it’s good for them, then it’s good for me. It always cracks me up because my students, who of course are learning English, always say “ONE!” instead of UNO. I like it.

I was told by one of my other new students, an eighteen year old from Madrid who is living in Alquerias for the summer, that the reason Spanish people don’t have beards is because beards make people look dirty. I said “Well, thank you,” and he just smiled and said “You’re welcome.” It’s no fun to be ironic or satirical in someone’s second language. That is unless you are one of those who likes to be the only one who gets the joke. If you are, you would have a great time as an ESL teacher. Not me. I like a bit of reciprocity. Entiendes?

Did I mention already that all of the new native English-speaking teachers are going to be Irish? Well, they are. They should begin to arrive in a couple of weeks, about the time that I am intending to be winding down. It should be interesting. Maybe I can brush up on my Irish accent before I head home.

This is a festival week for Spain… Something like the festival of the Mother of God I think. There have been fireworks intermittently throughout the nights and days recently… but that could also be a marker of every time that Spain scores a goal or wins a medal at the Olympics… who knows. I do know that it is a national holiday on the 15th, which is Friday. They are having bulls in the streets in a lot of towns around here. It is the usual fiesta behavior in most towns with enough money. Pamplona just gets all the press. If you want to see something really ridiculous and a bit uncool look up “toro embolado” on Google. I think it mostly means “bull on fire”. They tie some kind of sparklers or other flammable thing to the ends of the horns and then let the freaked out bulls chase people around with flames on the ends of their horns… I they are doing that here Friday. I have been told by several of the Spanish with whom I have chatted about bulls that someone who is not Spanish could never understand the “toro” culture… I must admit, at least for now, I think they are right.

I got side tracked, sorry. What I was going to day about the 15th of August is that it is supposedly the turning point when summer begins to wane here… In my experience back home the 15th of August is when the proverbial “mierda” hits the “ventilador” when it comes to heat… But I will take their word for it, and hope for the best.

Today was cloudy and a nice 24 degrees…(about 76 I think.) It was really nice for a change, although the Spanish here seem to prefer the oppressive heat and endless sun to a cloudy day. Today there were people wearing long sleeves in some places… I think they must have just been over exaggerating to make a point… Surely.

That’s all for now…







This sign is how i know i am getting close to home when i wander. The land is so flat between the mountains and the beach that you can see it for miles.

c

the 10th

The self-portrait on the way here... Just to let you know I haven't changed much and that i am really here...


















...an abandoned old convent on the corner near my house






Sunday August 10.

Since my last post, I have had my first bout with illness in this country. I came down pretty heavily with a ear/sinus/chest infection with fever and chills and the whole bit.

When I got back from Italy I was feeling a little tickle-pain on the left side of my throat that is usually a precursor to any kind of sickness I get. I was a tad worried, but I continued to take my vitamins and such. By Wednesday I couldn’t talk, couldn’t hear out of the left side of my head, didn’t want to walk, and was coughing deep heavy chest coughs with unsavory results. I paced around the house in my oversized lounging pants with a towel draped over my head and shoulders for most of the day. Finally, about 7pm, Dori, Katie’s Spanish teacher, showed up to teach Katie. She and Katie conspired to get me to a doctor who is the mother of one of Katie’s students. Health care here is not something I know much about, but I do know if you don’t have a government health I.D. card, it might be a little more difficult to find a doctor and get medicine. Luckily this doctor was home. She was off work and at her house, but she said that we could stop by. Dori drove me over there and stuck with me while the doctor (she was actually a pediatrician, but I wasn’t splitting hairs) checked me out. She told me I had a big serious ear infection that had decided to descend into my sinuses and chest. She said it looked like I had gotten some water in my ear and it had caused my infection. Thank you Italian swimming pool. She gave me some anti-biotics and some good pain/fever reducers. I am to call her when I finish my drugs for a check-up.

So I have been somewhat under the (extremely warm and sunny) weather. I only taught one class last week. Yesterday, for some vitamin D therapy, I went to the beach. It was surprisingly not too crowded. Although I did go a bit early in the day for beach-going. Usually the folks don’t go to the beach here until about 6 in the evening. It is just too hot. I got there about four o’clock I guess. I could only get out in the water up to my neck because the doctor told me not to get my ear wet. So I bobbed around for a while in the pleasant water and then walked up and down the beach until I dried. I still haven’t gotten myself any little European man-trunks. I think everyone might wonder why I was wearing my underwear over what looked like a pair of white thigh-length shorts… like superman…



The water has started getting warmer here, and as a result they are beginning to have problems with jellyfish coming nearer to the beach in the warm water. A few people have been stung here in the Burriana area. I am keeping my eyes peeled for anything colorful and bubbly… but so far I have seen nothing to speak of.







This is a huge piece of sculpture that is sitting by the side of the road in what looks like a scrap yard that is on the way to the beach. One had is rusty metal and the other is stainless steel. i like it.







I am getting a bit restless here on this fairytale working-vacation summer. There are a number of reasons for it.

I am only teaching about 10 or 15 hours a week… Not that I mind a light work load, but I have a 50 hour bond before I get paid… and lets see… I truly started teaching the first week of July… and it’s the first week of August… and 10 hours a week… Yeah, I have not been paid yet. I will be getting paid starting this week, but 70 euros a week is not much of a bankroll. Enough to eat on, yes, and I don’t have to pay rent (for now), but I won’t be coming home with much extra.

The teaching is not really what I expected. I am more or less thrown in with students for an hour or more a day for an undefined number of lessons and somehow expected to asses their knowledge, decide what they should learn, and improve their English. I feel as though the “Academy” that I work for is not very concerned with whether or not the students learn anything. They are simply concerned with hoodwinking the parents for a month or so with the guise of a “native English speaking teacher” and taking some of their hard earned money. In certain cases the teachers are nothing more than glorified baby-sitters making usual babysitters wages. The “Academy” charges anywhere from 18 to 30 Euros an hour for our services and pays us between 6 and 8 Euros an hour. In certain cases, though, a native speaker is all that is needed. Some teachers have students that are high-level business executives and simply need help with conversation and pleasantries in a business setting. Some teachers help college students understand English literature and assist in proofreading and editing theses for graduate students. And some teachers sit in a room with a class full of four year olds and try to keep them in their seats and occupied until their mothers get back from grocery shopping and then have to answer questions in a second language from angry mothers who want to know why little Elena is not speaking English fluently yet. It’s a bit like being thrown to the proverbial wolves… and being told to teach them something.

The wonderful housing situation that I have enjoyed up until this point is about to cease to exist. The owner of the house has begun to come by with other prospective renters to look at the property, and there are big “Se Alquila”(or For Rent) signs in front of our house. Jorge, our boss, has decided to stop paying the rent on the “casa de las giris.” (a Giri is like saying gringo but it’s Spain’s version, it literally means tourist, I believe.). Therefore, at the end of the month, I am not sure where I am going to live. I am sure like all renting situations that we are to be completely out of the house with no vestiges of our presence remaining by the first of September. In which case I will have just over 10 days to flounder around, but floundering can be expensive and possibly unpleasant if one is not well prepared. There is a possibility that my room mate Katie might be touring around the mountains in her big old camper van at the beginning of September which would make things easy for me; I would just tag along. If that doesn’t work out, the “Academy” is renting an apartment for classroom space down on the beachfront, and I could possibly negotiate a short stay there. But my current companions are fading out one at a time over the next 3 weeks… Joe is out on the 17th, Jeff is leaving on the 24th, Katie is done on the 31st, and I am here until the 10th of next month; so even though I still have right at a month left, I feel like I am already getting ready to leave.

Many of the businesses here are closed, closing this week, or partially closed for most of the day until September, which makes riding around town a bit strange. Luckily the grocery stores do not usually close. Although, this week is a fiesta week for the entire country I think. So who knows…

I am missing shade, and fresh water, and clouds, and thunderstorms, and certain people… And when I get home I will probably miss the ocean, and the sea breeze, and bakeries, and markets.



Time and distance and separation really help a person appreciate the things and people that they truly enjoy and love. Everywhere I’ve been I glean something new from the culture and the people and the lifestyle that I will keep with me when I leave. If I am able to continue traveling and absorbing, as I grow older, I can’t imagine what kind of lifestyle I will lead as an eighty-year-old man. I’m sure my grand-children with think I am “nutters” (that’s a nice Aussie term I think I’ll use.) They’ll laugh at my stories and my silly attempts at trying to teach them Spanish; but maybe, in one or two of them, I will see the spark of interest ignite in their eyes…the desire to seek truth and beauty and knowledge and wisdom… the desire to travel and to see and to experience… the tendency to dream. They will be the ones who had to touch the stove to know that it is hot...


























I hope when the time comes that I can be a part of a good solid base to jump from as I have had.

So I’m a bit disenchanted and a bit sentimental today.

Thanks for bearing with me.






Exactly one year ago today... In Montana.














A
day on the creek last June



espere ...hasta septiembre...es lo suficientemente pronto


c

The City of Flowers and other things.

A story always begins at the end.

There is no other way to tell a story.

Not the ultimate end mind you, all stories have tentacles that reach out in every direction past, future, and linear, through characters and objects, side to side, but a semblance of the end nonetheless.

The end of this story finds me back in my house in Alquerias a day later than I intended after a delayed flight, a missed train, and a lucky break or two.

The flight was to leave Pisa at 6:55 pm and arrive in Valencia two hours later. Arriving in Valencia at around nine would have allowed Jeff and I to catch the metro to the Valencia Nord train station and arrive somewhere around nine-thirty or nine-forty-five. The last train leaves the Valencia station going north toward my house at approximately ten-thirty. However, the departure of the flight was delayed by forty-five or fifty minutes, and we departed Pisa about eight o’clock rather than near seven…strike one…



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We arrived at the airport and as soon as we could disembark we began running (as much as you can run in a busy airport) toward the Metro station, which luckily, much like O’Hare in Chicago, was inside the airport at the far end. We had checked no baggage so we had only our carry-ons, which facilitated our rapid movement toward the Metro. We arrived before the subway left for the train station. Jeff had a ticket for the gate already, but I had to stop ad purchase one. Before I could buy my ticket and get through the gate the subway left. Nine-fifty-five… strike two.

The next one pulled in around ten and we waited and waited and waited… It finally left about four minutes after ten for a near half-hour ride to the station where we needed to arrive and purchase a ticket before ten-thirty. Ten stops between the airport and the train station seemed to take forever. Jeff got caught in the gate as we exited the Metro which subtracted a few more precious seconds from our time. We then ran up two flights of stairs to get above ground, across five lanes of traffic,(which was thankfully sparse on a Sunday night) and into the train station. We shouted to the ticket counter as we ran up that we needed two tickets for the last train north. He made the sign for “Cut off” and yelled back that it was on track one if we wanted to try and catch it and buy a ticket on board. We turned in unison to look toward the tracks just in time to hear the air-brakes release and see the train begin to move forward…strike three…



The next train headed north was at 5:55 the next morning. We either had to find somewhere to kill seven hours or had to find a place to sleep. We wandered around aimlessly for a bit trying to think of the best course of action. Cab fare for 45 or so kilometers was over a hundred Euros and was out of the question. We had no way to know where to find a hostel or a cheap hotel. Both of us use prepaid cell-phones over here, and we were both out of minutes so we couldn’t call anyone… Cell phones… I had a thought. I decided not to bring my laptop because of the weight and the possibility of theft, but for some reason I decided to bring my Iphone on the trip (which I have not been using and has no service here) in case I wanted to try and use the Wi-fi feature. I dug down in the bottom of my euro-man-purse and found it. Now our quest was easier. We would walk around until we found an unsecured network and look up directions to a hostel, which we did. Thank you technology. Usually I would consider my self not to be someone who is dependant on technology, but it sure is nice when it helps you in a pinch.

We found directions to the nearest hostel which was only a kilometer or two away. The Indigo Youth Hostel was fully booked when we arrived, but the young lady at the desk was very nice and called and reserved us two beds at another hostel another fifteen minutes walk away. She even drew us a map. So we arrived at the Valencia Center Hostel at about fifteen minutes til’ 12, but the cash box was locked until the next person arrived for their shift at midnight… So we stood outside and talked with some Germans, Italians, and a carpenter from Quebec. Even though we were tired, we lost track of time (travelers tales are fun.) and stood outside far past the shift change that we were waiting for. We did finally get a room for twenty-two euros each. Seeing as how we were already stuck for the night, we decided to go walking around with the Italians, Germans, and the carpenter from Quebec. We were near quite a lively part of town, and managed to stay entertained until about 3, which is when the little pubs and shops close and only the discotheques are open. I decided that was late enough for me and I headed to bed.

We bought our tickets around eleven the next morning for a twelve-twenty departure, and we arrived back in Alquerias about one or thereabouts not too much worse for the wear. Except for the fact that somewhere on the long long Sunday my throat decided to hurt and my nose started to run…and I began to get the same kind of summer tonsil/sinus crud that I get about once every 2 years. So now I am sitting in bed with a fan on me writing and taking my vitamins and a drug or two. (Thanks Doc.) It sucks to be sick when its over a hundred outside and you live in a house with no A/C.



Thus goes the end of the story.


As for Florence, the City of Flowers, it was fantastic. If I am to go again, I would like to practice a bit of Italian. I could get by with speaking Spanish and English, but Italian is hard for me to understand. It was very warm in Florence. There was not much of a breeze that I can recall, but the parks full of big old trees and the narrow streets surrounded by the high buildings gave shade for the largest part of the day.





the view from the hostel roof





The hostel that I stayed at was like a 4-star hotel that just happened to have seven beds in every room. That is a bit of exaggeration, but by hostel standards it was obscenely nice. There was A/C in every room a separate room each for the sink and toilet and for the sink and shower. The beds were clean, the sheets were crisp, there was a balcony on my room even though I was on the first floor… what else… a roof top bar and café, a basement bar and restaurant with pool tables and ping pong, an indoor pool with a steam room and a sauna on either side, and a staff that was very multi lingual and very nice and helpful. Not bad for about twenty four euros a night…

I met a ton of cool people. I hope I can remember and find all of the email addresses. English, Irish, Canadian, Colombian, Kiwi, German, Spanish, Cameroonian, Americans, and of course Aussies… Lots of Aussies. Everyone was coming from somewhere and going somewhere else (go figure on that one), all traveling around Europe for the summer. It was fun to swap stories and learn new things and look at pictures, and most of all have someone to pal around with while doing all of these things and exploring a new city.












I took a tour of the Chianti region around the Florence area. I just love the country more than I do the cities… I can’t help it. The countryside was all like a painting. I don’t know if I saw a piece of wasted space in the entire region. Over the last few thousand years they have become pretty adept at cultivation and use of space, I guess. Everything looked like a manicured lawn. And no doubt I was seeing through the rose colored glasses of a tourist, but nonetheless it was Tuscany, and it was beautiful.







Will the Aussie having chocolate and lemoncello gelato




















We visited a couple of vineyards and tasted some wines and olive oils (Truffle olive oil is awesome.) We had a lunch of Italian cold cuts and bruschetta under some olive trees, and then visited Sant Gimingiano for some world famous gelato and a view of the surrounding area from the top of the hill. All of the towns in the region are located historically at the top of hills for better view of the surrounding area and better protection as a result of the time when the area was filled with warring city-states.



San Gimingiano tower.











I visited the famous art galleries that are filled with the works of many painters and sculptors from Italy, obviously the most famous being the David of Michelangelo. Personally I preferred gazing at the unfinished sculptures of Michelangelo. There was something so raw and lifelike of the figures emerging from the block of stone as if they were being born into the world full-grown but were trapped and petrified in stone for eternity. The chisel strokes were still there on certain parts, which made the finished parts of the statues even more unbelievable. Of the paintings, I am not sure that I liked the ones that I was supposed to like. I did see many unbelievable works of art though. I have no idea what could possess a man to endeavor to paint a canvas that is thirty feet tall and twenty feet wide with any hope of completing it. Likewise for the cathedral domes and ceilings which were all exquisitely decorated. I think the painters liked their demons better than their saints though. The demons on the Dome are much more lifelike and interesting than the images of the saints.












Ah, yes the Dome of the cathedral of Santa Maria Del Fiore, The Duomo, the 3rd or 4th largest cathedral in the world. It is hard to believe that such a thing was built by the hands of men. The exterior façade of the church is all red, green, and white marble and is truly unbelievable.


The obligatory "I was here." picture in front of the cathedral.



I paid to climb to the top of the dome. One must ascend flights and flights of stairs something like 464ft. to the top. There is a very narrow corridor constructed of stone not meant to be traversed by people more than six feet tall. As a person who is about six feet tall, I hit my head more than once. The corridor is packed with people, and the stairs are steep, and it is hot, and the line only moves as fast as the slowest person, and there is no room to pass. The view was definitely breathtaking, but the bell tower is free and there is more room and it’s only a few feet shorter. If you go to Florence, climb the bell tower.




The View of the bell tower from the top of the Duomo.







I spent most of the time running around with Jeff or a couple of Aussie blokes. I had Italian food, Thai food, and went to a hookah bar. I saw the markets where the famous leather goods are sold. I was taken in by a shop-keeper who said he would give me a good deal because I had a beard like him. He hypnotized me with his broken English and many uses of “My Friend.” He practically sang to me about the quality and the durability of the jackets he was putting on me… I understand how people end up buying things they don’t want… But I let him sing his siren song of sales to me because I knew I was only carrying about 10 euros. I told him that at the beginning. Thirty minutes later when I had tried on everything that he wanted my to try on and I actually showed him that I was only carrying a 10 and would not be buying anything you would have thought he was going to cry.

I walked around Florence at about every time of day. I think I liked evening and night the best. Less people and cooler weather. All day and night, though, tourists tourists tourists. At least in the summer, Florence exists for the tourist. I wonder how long it has been that way. A traveler definitely gets gouged on the price of even the smallest things. I forgot that a one liter bottle of water does not actually cost 2 euros (about $3.20). Here in my town I buy 9 liters for about 1.20 euro.

My flight home was from Pisa. So naturally we visited the tower and all that jazz. I think Pisa out away from the touristy areas was very nice. We walked a few blocks either side of the tourist hot spots and found some very cool piazzas, gardens, and older buildings.

A nice public building in a piazza in pisa. The red cross at the top is the symbol of the city.





I bought a small painting from an artist who was sitting on the street selling some works done by her and her sister. Daniela and Silvia Pedretti I believe were their names, and she gave me some tips on how to see the real parts of town.

It was fun for sure. I wouldn’t want to do it every week, but I enjoyed it. I think I put on a few pounds thanks to the Italian food, but I’ll be back on the bike and going to class again this week.

As always thanks for reading.



I like graffiti.



c

Florence Tomorrow

I am leaving for Florence, Italy tomorrow.

I am leaving on the train to Valencia at 6:30pm or so, and from there, departing for Pisa at 9:30, then a train/bus at around midnight from Pisa to Florence. I am glad the hostel has 24 hour check-in because we will be arriving about 130 or 2 in the morning I think. I will be back sometime Sunday night, hopefully in time to catch the last train from Valencia back to Burriana. It should be a nice respite from the classes I have been teaching, and the environs of a different world-city that I have never seen should be fun. I was encouraged toward Florence by nearly everyone with whom I spoke about Italy. So, I expect it will be nice.



Today was market day in Burriana. I went to the market with my house-mate Katie to see what all the fuss was about. The thing was much bigger than I expected. There were many different vendors, selling anything from kitchen utensils to clothing and shoes to fruits and vegetables to meats and cheeses… unbelievable variety.





The market... Katie is in the second picture using the language that we all use along with our Spanish... Sign language.








It was fun. I do believe that I will buy my vegetables there from now on, but today, since I am leaving tomorrow, I bought nothing. Most of the stalls are covered with a drape of black netting that shades the patrons while allowing the breeze to blow through. It was nice in the shade, but in the sun, it was a scorcher. About 35 or 36 degrees Celsius, which I think is about 96 or 98 degrees Fahrenheit… I’m not sure though. It was hot to say the least.






This is the tower for which Burriana is famous. There are T-shirts sold here with the Eiffel tower, Big Ben, and the Burriana tower displayed equally on them.














Some doors that i liked... The city is full of big old wooden carved doors.





A street in Burriana





Today was my last class with Daniel and Ana. They only had classes through the end of July, so I am now back down to about 10 hours a week if nothing else comes through… So much for breaking even. Although I must admit, I do like the free time. It is summer, after all.

And I can hear the old women and men sitting just outside the back door of the academy as I type. Ever since it has been hot during the day the people sit and stroll about until 12 or 1 in the morning. Without air conditioning the houses take a while to cool off in the evenings. And they like to sit near the street or in the street. Otherwise the breeze is minimal. It is nothing like a neighborhood back home. All of the buildings in town are residences are almost all are about 4 stories tall, even in this town of 3900 people. Above every shop, there are apartments. So the blocks of buildings block the breeze on the side streets and in the courtyards. In the streets the breezes blow. The temperature here drops quickly when the sun sinks below the mountains to the west, but the thick walls of the masonry architecture here take time to give up their pent up heat to the cool breezes that surround them. And the old men and women talk to me when I come in. It is “Buenas Tardes” or “Bona Nit” (in Valenciano) as I ride up on my bike. Last night as I left one of the old women said to me in Spanish “Well, we’re still here…”, and I said, “Well, are you not always here?…” and I got a big laugh. It was an accident, but I’ll take a laugh anyway I can get it.

Tonight, I am preoccupied with a couple of things one of which is a trip to Italy for which I have yet to pack… and I must pack frugally. I am only taking my carry on. Therefore I must go.

Look for more from me round about Sunday when I return from Italy…

Thanks again for stopping in.


C

p.s. FYI, If you click on the pictures you can view them as larger images.

Monday the 28th

Today is a Monday.

Although it doesn't feel like a Monday in the tradition of the negative connotation generally given to the day. I got a lot of sleep this weekend, and i did nothing of consequence. (Other than some serious grocery shopping and cooking.)

Perhaps my mood has something to do with the fact that i know this will be a short week. I leave on Wednesday for Florence, Italy, and I am not taking my computer. So it will be "radio darkness" for blog land from Wednesday to Sunday unless I am able to randomly use some internet at the hostel. I am not entirely comfortable lugging my computer into a hostel and either having to leave it there or carry it around with me all day. I bought a much smaller euro-man-purse for my daily carrying needs, and a computer gets heavy after a while.

I also realized that i am past the halfway point for this hitch... I am closer to coming home than i am to the date of my arrival.

I plan to give you a little more meaty writing to chew on while i am gone, but today, right now, i am hungry.

I'm headed home to make some food. Fresh tomatoes,(courtesy of one of our Spanish teachers) fresh basil (from my plant on the patio), and some fresh mozzarella, baked on a baguette in the oven... I think that will do the trick.

hasta luego
c

The 22nd

It is Tuesday the 22nd of July.



Just a silly video to see how well it works. A short snippet of my ride to work on my bike.



Tuesdays are a busy day for me relatively speaking. I have class at 9:30 to 12 and then come home for lunch and siesta before riding 9 kilometers out to the beach for my 4:30 class, which has begun starting at 5 for some Spanish reason. I think my boss talked the mother of my students into a two-hour class even though she really didn’t want to subject her boys to such a long class. I actually appreciate it even though I lose about 2 and a half ours a week in pay because Fran, the eight-year-old, has a hard time staying with me for two hours. Nando, the twelve-year-old plays tennis quite often so there is a chance that the class could be cancelled on ay day in favor of tennis, which he likes much more than English.

Getting started this morning was tough. I woke up, begrudgingly forsaking my bed, at 8:45 this morning after having fallen asleep definitely no earlier than 4. It has been hard to get to sleep early here for some reason. I think it is in part because I relish a bit of time to myself after everyone has gone to bed and the house is quiet, and here that means at 1:00 am or so. Although last night I was awake until 2:30 preparing for my classes today. I spent time locating the type of exercises that I wanted for my advanced class and tailoring them to my desires on the computer. Then I tailored some reading comprehension and vocabulary questions for the exercises and printed them all out. Quite a bit of work. I remember hoping when I agreed to this job that there was a bit of curriculum already in use and I was just going to step in and teach from a currently existing base, but it seems that it is up to me to decide what and how the students learn. It would be great if I had some personal learning theories that I wanted to test out or a method that I preferred, but since I do not, I’m struggling a bit. It is nice for a change though. A challenge.

I was riding home from Burriana today and realized that there are many small things that I have said nothing about.

As I ride down the roads between the orange groves I am usually riding next to open concrete irrigation ditches; it can be a tad dangerous fur a careless motorist. Between the road and every field there are irrigation canals of various sizes and depths that are usually flowing with water. There is a system of gates(much like locks on a river on a much smaller scale) that open into various fields that are operated by hand-crank wheels which allow the raising and lowering of the gates to alter the flow of the water.
The caretakers who are responsible for the various fields ride around on little Vespina mopeds in their dirt-covered clothes with a milk crate usually strapped to the back filled with tools for tinkering with the gates and such. This irrigation system is a remaining legacy of the Moors here in Spain. The method of water transport and usage is so sound that it has not changed in over 800 years. The Moors valued water highly because of the scarcity of rain in this region, and the chosen crop, oranges (,which are also a Moorish legacy,) love to be watered. Think about a fruit that is mostly juice having to grow in a climate where it rains only 45 days a year… The irrigation has to be good.

The fields or campos are not filled with grass but are solid dirt; the orange trees usually reside on a bit of a hump or ridge a few inches high to allow the trunks of the trees to stay out of the water and to allow the water to flow freely through the fields. I have never seen anyone using a tiller, and the keepers are always covered in dust, so I assume that most of the care of the grounds is done by hand. The entire length of the roadside next to the fields is littered with trash and debris. (The Spanish are notoriously and admittedly infamous litterers.) I’m sure it takes up quite a bit of the caretaker’s day just keeping his irrigation canals relatively debris-free, but the debris is just thrown in the field. So even though the orange trees or los naranjos are picturesque and beautiful they are generally surrounded by a smattering of wine bottles, water bottles, paper, and just about anything else people throw out. I have also seen a suitcase, some wooden stairs, a thrashed mo-ped, and an armchair, just to name a few of the stranger things. (But to be fair to the Spanish, as a community here in the Communitat Valenciano, they are much more faithful in their recycling efforts than most of us Americans. There are bins on just about every other corner for paper, cardboard, plastic, and glass, and the people are always making time to put their used products in the bins.)
In nearly all of the sections of the fields, which are usually defined by the surrounding roads, there are old small rundown houses that are empty.
These are las alquerias after which my pueblo, or town, is named. Las alquerias is an archaic word meaning “the farmhouses.” The houses are usually small, concrete or a similar substance, and roofed with tile. In the past the caretakers of each individual grove would live in the house the better to care for the surrounding trees. I am not sure why this practice was abandoned, but now they are generally used for storage or for nothing at all. The occasional old house as one nears the beach has been renovated by a wealthy town dweller into a summer home, although the vestiges of the original structure are generally lost. There is not a huge trend here that I have seen toward preservation or restoration of older homes to their original state. People with the money build a new house, and everyone else is content to live in a flat. I really enjoy the old Mediterranean style architecture. There is beauty in its simplicity and function. It is definitely a practiced and learned response to the climate in which it is found.




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Nothing like a bit of Anarchist graffiti in support of the environment. “NO MORE TOXINS IN THE ORCHARD ” is the message.



On another note, Happy Birthday to my brother Matt. He turned 24 on Sunday.

I had my first slight bout with homesickness a couple of days ago. Nothing major. Definitely not a cry-myself-to-sleep affair, but I was reading a book that I found here in the house that I actually had read about 15 years earlier on a recommendation from my grandfather. It was The Education of Little Tree by Forrest Carter. It is an enjoyable nostalgic autobiographical account of a boy growing up with his grandparents in the mountains of Tennessee. It made me think of family, and home, and mountains, and streams, and all of the things from childhood that I remember with fondness. It’s just that kind of book. In reality, I know it is hot and humid back home, and the only things biting are the mosquitoes, and the creeks are drying up, and the grass is getting brown. I would probably fail to spend enough time with the people I care about when I’m on the other side of the ocean anyway. But, it’s the idea of those things. It’s easier to love the people and things you love when you can’t reach out and touch them for a while. Then I remember that I will be home soon, and at that point I will miss riding to the beach and swimming in the ocean everyday, eating fresh from the boat Mediterranean seafood, taking siestas, sipping café cortado in the café on the corner before class, watching the old men in the square, and the ever present fact that it actually cools off here at night in the summer.



My Street.













Bright bright blooming flowers.

















Self Portrait on my evening paseo, Almost home… (The green light at the end of the street is the neon sign for a brothel.)

















This is the bar/cafe on the corner about 200 meters from my house; believe it or not I have not yet been there.










Oh, yes. I’ll see you all soon, and will be glad of the meetings, but ‘til then, I think I’ll make it just fine here.

Hasta Luego.

c

thursday july 17

Today is Thursday the 17th. I am sitting in Los Naranjos café in Burriana. My afternoon class today was cancelled for the second day in a row as I was riding my bike this direction and as a result I have 2 hour break during which I have nowhere to go and nothing specific to do. I have been quite busy during the last weeks preparing for classes and what not even though I have only 15 hours of classes in a week. I do not have enough language to walk into a class and wing it; therefore I must prepare material for my classes. I have a new class this week. I am teaching Daniel, a 4th year civil engineering student and his girlfriend Anna, a college graduate with a degree in early childhood education. They both speak passably good English, which makes the class much easier to teach. We spend the class mostly talking and practicing conversation and doing reading comprehension exercises. I teach them Tuesdays and Thursdays from 9:30am to 12. Today I had them read aloud an article in TIME magazine and I asked them questions about the article to see if they had understood what they read. The article was about immigration issues in America. We then had a discussion about immigration issues in Spain. Spain is the gateway to Europe from Africa, and thereby has problems with illegal immigrants crossing the Straits of Gibraltar in shoddy boats. They have generally paid what amounts to their life savings just for the opportunity to attempt to come to Europe. I asked Daniel for his opinion about immigrants and policy concerning them. I was a bit surprised by his answer, probably because I am accustomed to staunch opposition to illegal immigrants back home, and because of the fact that here in Spain the cultural and national pride runs so high I expected an anti-immigrant attitude. However, he said that he believed that the best policy was to learn to live with immigrants and grant the illegals the asylum that they seek. When I asked him why he said that he guessed his reasoning was that 20 to 30 years ago the Spanish were in the same situation as the immigrants in that they were forced to look elsewhere in the world for gainful employment because of the lack of jobs and opportunities in their home country. The idea of a sense of national pride and strength that causes the bearer to desire to allow others a chance to make their own way in the framework of ones own culture is vaguely familiar… The poor, tired, and hungry. The huddled masses yearning to breathe free. I remember reading about a culture like that. I remember hearing about the land of opportunity, freedom, and equality, about a place that was a “melting pot” of cultures in which the cultural identity was the diversity of the culture. When did that idea start to develop a negative connotation? I must admit that I don’t like the idea of my personal history and the culture that I have known fading into a multinational oblivion. Yet, is a personal identity not stronger in the face of assimilation? When a way of life and traditions of a people start to fade, the people culturally revolt and cling fiercely to the way of life that they cherish. The ones who don’t like it are welcome to change. That is a right I want to have and would like to extend to others in order to retain it myself. Young people in any nation are prone to rebel against the ideals of their parents. Yet every generation returns at least in part to the values and traditions of their fathers. Otherwise there would never be a new generation of social conservatives. There is a happy medium in here somewhere… where it is, I do not know.

I’m not trying to have answers here. Just thinking in print. Thinking on a subject courtesy of an English class. This is why I love language. It is an all-encompassing medium for our opinions, thoughts and desires. Everything is fair game for a language class. I think in the next class we will read some poetry in English and see how the translation treats the artistically written word.

Speaking of poetry, I feel as though my musings have become less about the soul of this place and more about the daily routines, but no; I think i just changed my mind. There is poetry in daily life. Perhaps it simply takes the mindset of a poet to perceive it.

And as I sit here in the café, old men come and go. The same old men that I saw yesterday in this same place sit in the same chairs and talk about life. It is like a play, acted out every day, and the players move in and out of each others lives, each is his own character with his habits, flaws, demeanor, and actions, and I am the unimportant player, who changes the tone of the drama for an act, and then is gone, hardly remembered by the main characters, only significant for the reason that I am actually occupying a chair that is usually frequented by another. I am a topic of conversation. It works both ways,though. They are merely the setting for my life, fading out as the scene changes, possibly to return in the next scene, possibly to fade from my memory and the rising action of this drama that is my life.

Today I have the desire to tell it all, to know it all, to be everything, all of the hopes, dreams, plans, failures, successes, truth, lies, wisdom, folly, happiness, disappointment.

I am only limited by my ability to translate these things to the page.

In an email today to an old friend, I found myself telling him quite a bit of unsolicited information about my hopes and ideas for the future, things I haven’t voiced in quite a while.

It’s interesting how having to use your brain in new ways in a different environment reopens your neural pathways. Every time I go away and change my setting and my routine and mix up my life a bit, I find that things that I have forgotten resurface, sleeping thoughts awaken, and latent dreams are reanimated. I remember why it is that I love to go. It is not only about the destination but the therapeutic reawakening of the self that I remember exists beneath the things that I say and do. It is often, in the rut of daily life, crushed into the mud and gravel of a well-trod path, hidden beneath the moss that gathers on a sedentary stone.

Sometimes i can be a bit verbose. Thank you for wading through my musings today.

c

Sagunto Sunday

Looking down on the town of Sagunto from the Castle Arse (yeah, that's really the name)

Fishhooks have not changed much in 2000 years... and neither have tweezers. I love artifacts. They give my imagination so much food for thought.

Celts, Iberians, Romans, Moors, Crusaders. everybody added something up here... I'm not sure which is which. I want to go back when i have learned a bit more about what i am looking at


This street was so steep that it has a ladder entrance similar to that found on the side of a swimming pool, and of course a handrail all the way up.


Me in front of the doors to a 14th or 15th century Gothic Cathedral. There is a part of the wall of this cathedral that was a temple to the goddess Diana in this same spot prior to Hannibal's invasion in 219 B.C. It was one of the only things he did not destroy.


*Evidently i was quite tired sunday night when i wrote this because i forgot to post it, but i thought i had done so.


I hope you don't mind. i might write little and put some pictures up tonight. I need to get some things done for my classes this week.

Todays destination was Sagunto. It is a town about 30 minutes by train down the coast that was founded by the Celts/Iberians. It is quite old. The town has been continuously inhabited for about the last 3000 years. The streets are extremely narrow and are paved with stones that are generally square and usually patterned in circles. They twist and turn through the city like footpaths or goat trails, both of which are probably correct. There is some great history in this town. It was besieged by Hannibal for 8 months at the start of the 2nd Punic war, but i won't get into all that.

My apologies.

I'm a bit tired today.