Medicine, San Francisco, and Seattle

I apologize for letting so much time go by between posts. So much has evolved in my life, though most of these changes have been deeply internal shifts that are hard to write about and may be boring for my readers. Regardless, I will write about them in brief since they are the things that will most strongly shape the course of my life, even if they aren't necessarily accompanied by pretty pictures and flashy descriptions. Thanks for bearing with me.

Most of you know what I'm going to explain in this paragraph already, but one of the biggest changes of the past couple of months has been my radical departure from wanting to be a professor of literature to planning on becoming a physician. The shift might seem so revolutionary as to be psychotic or ill-thought, and I, too, operated for awhile under the assumption that this mental shift was nothing more than an ephemeral fluke, a transient caprice that would evanescence as quickly as it had appeared. Nevertheless, after many conversations, lots of investigation, and pretty consistent questioning, my desire to change professional tracks has stuck, and I will therefore defend and explicate it. Though I wrote 8 single-spaced pages about what brought about this shift, the short of it was the persistent voices of doubt about the usefulness of being a professional reader coupled with my strong desire to feel like I'm using my brain, my education, and my labor to make the world a better place in a tangible way. These thoughts, as well as many others, brought me back to my high-school dream of becoming a doctor. I was hit with all of this in a pretty brief flash of inspiration during what were a couple of at first dark (for personal reasons) and then overwhelmingly exciting days. When my soul hit upon its desire to be a doctor, I was so elated that all I could do was take really long walks during the wee hours of the morning since I was restless and couldn't relax and stay asleep. Some deep urges and unmet needs feel satisfied by the idea of pursuing medicine, and I feel so grateful that I will have the chance to study in a medical school in the upcoming years. I could honestly write about this for pages and pages, but I will contain myself.

As part of my self-questioning and my desire to make sure that I want to make such an enormous professional shift (that will involve enormous investments of time and money and that will ultimately shape the rest of my life in a huge way), I began a process of talking to current doctors, reading doctor-related and doctor-written books, and I also got a new job working in a medical clinic. The conversations with doctors and the readings have been marvelous. I've read essays by Dr. Paul Farmer on getting the world's poorest access to medications that treat multi-drug resistant tuberculosis. I read a book about being an emergency room psychiatrist who deals with drug addicts, homicidal and suicidal people, and people with psychoses and neuroses of all stripes. I also just finished a brief history of medicine and an amazing book called The End of Illness by David Agus about which I'm going to tell my family members more details in an e-mail . All of my reading has been exhilarating and has confirmed my desires to go to medical school. The new job in the medical clinic has also been great, though I've had so many new experiences and impressions there that I will focus on it in my next post in much greater detail. Suffice it to say for now that I'm loving my new full-time job.

Two letters to Mr. Robert Weatherford, four chocolates,
and a Golden Gate Bridge drawn with syrup all awaited
me in my beautiful hotel room. It was quite posh!

As a fruit of my earlier desire to be a professor of literature, I had applied for a Marshall Scholarship to study for two years in the United Kingdom since I felt like I could never be a fully effective professor of English literature if I hadn't spent a significant amount of time in England. After a lengthy application process, I was granted an interview in San Francisco at the British Consulate as a semi-finalist for the Marshall Scholarship. I was given a flight into the Bay Area and put up by the British Consulate in an extremely swanky (yes, I'm using British terms! :) ) hotel. I was on the 29th floor of a beautiful hotel downtown and had a corner room, meaning two of my four walls were nothing but glass windows. Look at how beautiful my view was.

Like my mother, I absolutely love the Bay Area. I love how vibrant, beautiful, and compact it is. San Francisco is one of my favorite cities in the entire world. While I was there, I was privileged to have dinner and a cup of tea with Peggy Weintrub, a professor of pediatric epidemiology at the University of California-San Francisco School of Medicine. She is Ali Ganem's mom, and Ali was one of my best friends during my year in Spain. Peggy has talked to me on the phone for hours about different options for completing my pre-medical requirements, getting into medical school, and the like. She, too, was a liberal arts undergraduate who made a career change to medicine and is very happy with her choice. Our dinner together was fabulous, fun, and helpful, as time with her always is. (She and I met in Spain and spent a few days together touring around with Ali.) In San Francisco, She and I talked a lot about medicine, and it was kind of dissonant to be preparing for an interview about why I would be a great literature scholar when my heart and mind were dwelling on wanting to become a physician and start my pre-medical requirements.

My interview in San Francisco was really nerve-wracking for me, but once the questions began, I felt calm and enjoyed feeling the anxiety subside. I felt like I answered all but two of the questions well. In general, the format of the interview was much less aggressive and interrogatory than I thought it would be, and when it was done, I was so relieved that I almost cried tears of joy. I exited the building to a beautiful day in the Bay Area, I put in the ear-buds of my iPod, and I started jamming out to tunes as I walked down Market Street back to my hotel, all dressed up in a suit and tie, so happy to have spent a brief day in San Francisco interviewing for the Marshall Scholarship and talking with Peggy. I heard back from the Marshall Committee two weeks later and found out that I was not granted one of the prized scholarships. Even though it would have been an awesome opportunity to have won, I hardly felt any disappointment. My heart wants to become a doctor now, and the Marshall Scholarship was the dream of the old ambition to become a professor. I'm glad that someone else won that scholarship, and I'm glad that I am now free to apply to post-baccalaureate pre-medical programs and pursue my dream of becoming a doctor.

As some of you may know, my bike got stolen on Halloween. Though it was locked up, it was locked with a chain and not with a steel U-lock, so it's likely that the lock got clipped and the bike taken, especially given that it was decked out with front and rear lights, a rain fender, and my helmet (which I stupidly left dangling on the handlebars). Losing my bike was tough, since that is how I get around, but I ended up asking around, doing a bit of research, and finding my dream steed, which I now proudly own! This bike is a road bike, and it is so speedy! I get to my job downtown (and everywhere) much faster than I used to, and I pass other bikers on the road all of the time (respectfully, of course). I'm totally in love with my new bike, and I bought an enormous lock and even a funky chain that winds around the tires so that no one dares lay a hand on my new baby. It cost me a pretty penny to buy a new bike (with all its necessary accouterments), a helmet, and the two locks that I have, but I haven't regretted my decision yet. I love flying around Portland on a gas-free, good-for-your-heart bike! (Pardon my preaching. :) )


Speaking of Pacific Northwest pretension and preaching, people from Portland can be really funny, and many of them are open enough to be able to make fun of themselves. Many people up here are "alternative" and eat only organic, local, vegan food, or insist on only biking places, or wear mismatched, hipster clothing to "go against the grain." I go on Sunday morning runs with a lesbian who doesn't shave, for example, and she's totally normal up here. It's a city full of the "alternative" crowd, and some of these people can get pretty haughty about their lifestyles and their choices, bragging about how big their organic garden is and how they invited their interracial gay neighbors over for yoga and a fundraiser to stop global warming. There is a whole show making fun of Portland called Portlandia, and I thought that some people who read this blog might appreciate it. Check out this 2.5 minute episode in which a couple insists on knowing how happy the chicken was that they're about to eat on their date. Portland is wonderful, but it can be taken too far, and I love that many people up here can make fun of themselves and realize that there's no reason to be judgmental or arrogant.

Lastly, I wanted to tell you all about the beautiful Thanksgiving that I spent up in Seattle. I was invited by Susannah and her sister Margaret to spend Thanksgiving with their extended family up in Seattle, which is one of my favorite cities on this planet (up there with Paris, France, and Salamanca, Spain). Susannah's Aunt Susannah (it's a family name!) put us up in her house, and I shared Thanksgiving dinner with 21 other people. It was a scrumptious feast, and the conversations that were had were wonderful. I really love a couple of Susannah's uncles and a couple of her aunts, and it was such a pleasure to get to spend time with a family quite similar to my own in many ways--large, warm, full of fascinating characters, and most importantly full of love. I was also privileged to get to speak with my sister Amy on Thanksgiving Day, who gave me the update on the Shumway family reunion and her exciting life, as well as my old friend from BYU Brad Ackerson, a Portland native who is finishing up a neuroscience degree at BYU before starting medical school. It was a great day full of love, conversation, walks, and food. I missed seeing all of my loved ones back home, though, and I hope you all know that more than anything, I'm grateful for you!

I will write more soon about my new job at Outside In Clinic and anything else that happens between then and now. Happy December!

North to Mt. St. Helens and South to Ashland

In the past three weeks, I've had the opportunity to travel beyond Portland to see other parts of the beautiful Pacific Northwest. My impression continues to be the same--this is a magnificent region of the country, with some of the most lush and stunning landscapes I've ever seen.

My first trip was up north into the state of Washington to be a chaperone for the 7th grade trip that Oregon Episcopal School, my employer, had planned. I felt really sick at work on Tuesday, as I was battling what was already a 10-day cold that seemed to have settled deeply in my throat. Nevertheless, when I was called Tuesday after work and asked if I could go on the trip to Mt. St. Helens to be an advisor to 10 seventh-graders, I decided to take the great offer. How could I say no to getting paid to hike around Washington while getting to know my co-workers and my students better? I said yes, packed everything I would need for camping, hiking, and caving, and was given a Prius to drive up to a base camp near Mt. St. Helens early the next morning where my boys were waiting for me.

Our trip was so much fun. The highlights for me were the following: the discussion we had as an entire group while lying under the heavenly expanse of stars about finding personal meaning in the universe even though we are such a small part of it; cooking bean, cheese, and guacamole quesadillas with my boys over a small propane-fueled stove; and helping all of the kids in my caving group climb over a tall rock wall. We spent one afternoon on our trip seeing a movie and exploring a museum dedicated to explicating the Mt. St. Helens blast of 1980, and it was neat to learn more about this volcanic eruption that I had always heard of as a child but never fully understood until my trip up there a few weeks ago.

Mt. St. Helens, which used to be a traditionally
beautiful mountain that got destroyed by a large lateral
blast in 1980 that emitted tons of lava, ash, and gases



Literally the light at the end of the tunnel...well, sort of.
Sunlight shines through a place where the cave opens to
the outside world near the exit.

As I mentioned briefly above, we spent another afternoon caving in what is known as Ape Cave, a cave in Washington created by the igneous rock left in the wake of other eruptions of Mt. St. Helens. The cave was enormous and required us all to have good hiking gear, helmets, and headlights. There was lots of skilled footwork and hiking involved, and at one point, there was a large wall that we needed to get a group of about 30 students over. The expedition leader taught the kids how they could all spot each other as they mounted the wall, but one kid said, "I think Mr. Weatherford should spot all of us." The other kids chimed in with affirmative "yeahs," and I probably blushed right there in the cave. :) I was the tallest male leader on the trip, and apparently they felt safest knowing I was spotting them and lifting them up. So I proceeded to help all of the kids and other adult leaders get up this large rock wall, and it was probably the most  gratifying part of the entire trip simply since I felt needed by my community and proud to be perceived as strong and capable.

The Mt. St. Helens trip was amazing, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. When I got back on Friday night, however, my throat was killing me, my right ear was aching, and I was finding it difficult to swallow. I made a quick appointment with an urgent care doctor, and after being swabbed and looked at, I learned that I had strep throat and a peritonsillar abscess. Yikes! I was given a small supply of steroids, two weeks worth of antibiotics, and a recommendation to see an otorhinolaryngologist to consider having a tonsillectomy. Though physically I felt really crummy, it was nice to know that my chills, fever, and ear and throat pain weren't all in my head but were actual bacterial realities. All I can say is thank goodness for modern medicine.

The next morning, Susannah and I left early to drive south to Ashland, Oregon, where the Oregon Shakespeare Festival takes place every year. We had pre-purchased tickets to two of Shakespeare's plays that are lesser known, Troilus and Cressida and Henry V. Since my antibiotics and steroids were kicking in, I started to feel so much better and to have tons of positive energy. Susannah and I first saw Troilus and Cressida, which is a somewhat tragic love story between a Greek girl and a Trojan boy that takes place during the Trojan War (that greatest of all Western epics depicted in movies like Helen and Troy and poetry like The Iliad.) We enjoyed how the director interpreted Shakespeare's words and made a modern adaptation of setting and costumes to change the Greeks and Trojans into American Marines and Iraqis. When that play was over, we explored Ashland a little and prepared for our second play, Henry V. Henry V was the last history play that Shakespeare wrote, and in it he tries to show how a character in his previous history plays, Prince Hal, goes from being an immature rich prince who steals for fun and drinks with his fat buddies in the tavern to being a noble king that eventually conquers France and thereby extends the English empire. This play was also really well done, and Susannah and I were, on the whole, very impressed, especially since our production of Henry V integrated a deaf actor really well, something neither of us had ever seen before. We spent a little more time in Ashland the following morning, and then we headed back north to Portland.

These deer were eating the grass of a park in Ashland. Look
how close they let me get!

The rest of life has been good, too. Portland is beginning to embrace autumn, and the leaves are spectacular. I'll take some photos and include them in my next post. Susannah and I have a new custom of eating this delicious, cheap food at a restaurant called Laughing Planet on Friday nights to celebrate our weekend. We then hop over to a small ice cream shop that serves flavors like Mexican Chocolate or Caramel with Salted Dark Chocolate (my favorite), and I've developed a little crush on the cute guy who serves us our ice cream. He he. It's a good life I've been able to lead up here, and I'm so grateful that all of this is possible for me!

Settling In and Visiting Seattle

My first month in Portland has treated me very well. The weather, for example, has been sunny every day since I've arrived, which nearly everyone has made a point of telling me is "false advertisement," as I am in for hundreds of days straight with lots of rain. Coming from the parched lands of Wyoming, though, I say "bring it on!" Portland also gave me a job that I'm loving, and I suppose that my part-time occupation is a good point of departure for this post since I ended on a cliff-hanger about it in my previous one.

I got a job as an after-school teacher working for Oregon Episcopal School, a private K-12 school in the southwestern part of Portland. My job responsibilities are simple, but I derive much satisfaction from them since they all concern human interactions: I design, shop for, and cook two snacks a day for my students, I tutor students during one hour of required study time, and then I simply hang out with students and interact with them in appropriate but enjoyable ways as an adult mentor. The job, it turns out, is incredibly fun. I work specifically in the middle school, and I love my kids. Since Oregon Episcopal School is a private school, these kids come from very affluent backgrounds and have been raised to be confident and bright. On my first day on the job, two kids wrote me a survey that I had to fill out so they could learn about me. Yesterday, one extremely perspicacious kid (he's thirteen and will take calculus next year and hopes to study physics at MIT) was interrogating me regarding my political beliefs about government intervention in economics and my feelings on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. These kids come from fascinating backgrounds--two of my boys are the sons of Nike's President, I found out yesterday. One of my kids lived in Israel for awhile (the interrogator) and invests an allowance of $1,000 that his dad has given him to teach him about stocks and the market. Though philosophically I prefer the idea of public education so that all children, regardless of the socioeconomic background of their parents, have access to knowledge and social advancement through school, since this private teaching job is the one that presented itself, I'm embracing it and giving these kids the best I've got. It's not necessarily fair that they were born to wealthy parents who can afford to pay for private tutors, buy them private cello lessons, give them thousands to invest in stocks and take them around the world to live in multicultural environments, but they deserve love, too, so I'm giving them all my love. I love that these kids are being raised with opportunities and wide worldviews, and I merely wish that all children could have access to the same resources and possibilities. Regardless, my job is incredible.

I also adore my co-workers. They are sharp, educated, open-minded folks who instantly took me in. My work is 11 miles away from where I live, and I've been biking over the river (and really through the woods, too, though not to grandmother's house), and one day the PE teacher took me home in her car to save me the workout. On the way home, we stopped with her adorable daughter to get some donuts, and then we resumed singing along to Kidz Bop as I got a ride home from this wonderful stranger. My fellow after-school teacher and I get along really well, and she and I are going to carpool to save me some time and thigh energy. My boss is awesome and continually gives me freedom to do my thing and praise for the energy my co-worker and I are investing in the job. Anyway, it's all been incredible so far, and next week I'm substitute-teaching since I told the head of the school that I want to be put to as much use as possible! I'm thrilled to continue to learn in this job that I really enjoy.

Multnomah Falls, totally impressive
but very close to the highway, meaning
gobs of tourists were mobbing the scene
and depriving it of its tranquility

Because we are now both working, Susannah and I have had fewer outdoor adventures. Nevertheless, we took another beautiful all-day hike around Multnomah Falls and didn't stop until we reached a peak from which we could see Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Hood, and other prominent mountains in the region. It was a stunning view, and up top was a couple on vacation from Spain with whom I spent a good amount of time chatting in Spanish, which felt wonderful. It was a great moment of natural beauty and human intercultural intimacy combined.

A random photo I snapped of a stream
we encountered on our hike, but aren't
the moss-covered tree, the stony brook,
and the effulgent skies gorgeous?

On another day, Susannah and I went for a trail run in an enormous wooded area in Portland called Forest Park. After the trail run, which was invigorating, we hiked to the top of a hill where Pittock Mansion lies, an old Victorian house now used as a historical museum of the Pacific Northwest. The grounds were nicely laid out with many species of flowers, and the inside was full of the trappings of Victorian life in America, including an impressive shower and restrictive whale-bone corsets. The position of the house on the hill also afforded a marvelous view of all of Portland, and I had a moment of deep gratitude that I get to live for a year in such a pretty city in a deep green, fertile environment. I learned that many forests in Oregon are actually temperate rain forests, a biome about which few people know, since we are so accustomed to speaking of tropical rain forests. I feel so privileged to get to live in such a sylvan setting.

Pittock Mansion, like Laramie's Ivinson Mansion,
represents the residences of the societal elite of the
late 1800s. Today it houses a museum dedicated
to the same period.

My camera captured the many petals of this rose with
great precision, much to my delight. There were dozens
of species of roses of all different hues and redolences.

Portland is also home to a beautiful park that has such an impressive rose garden that Portland's sobriquet is "The City of Roses." I had visited this park before when Troy and I went on our Pacific Northwest trip after I graduated from college, but none of the flowers were in bloom at that time, and it was a completely different experience to see these plants at the height of their beauty. Susannah and I spent a couple of hours wandering through the rows of roses, taking photos, appreciating their scents, and marveling at nature's floral creation.

Here I stand under an archway of flowers right next to
the Shakespeare Garden. How cool is that?

For Labor Day, one of Susannah's good friends named Helen invited us to have a barbecue at her mom's place a little south of Portland in Tualatin. We prepared a salad with all sorts of garden vegetables and headed down. Everyone at the barbecue was wonderful--Helen and I met when she stopped through Laramie, and we instantly had a connection. She's a super successful lawyer who is nevertheless down to earth, emotionally sensitive, and hilarious. Her best friend is a gay man named CJ who is a vegan and has run 17 marathons in his life. CJ is one of the sweetest people I've ever met (not judgmental or pretentious at all, even though any vegan marathon-runner has the right to be in my eyes!), and his partner, Brandon, is also wonderful--a environmental engineer/architect who spent the barbecue with someone else's fussy baby and didn't complain when it spat up all over his nice shirt. They both have been so great to me but unfortunately are moving to Los Angeles where CJ will get his PhD in urban planning. Regardless, it was wonderful to meet them and to get to spend time with them both at the Labor Day barbecue and over a plate of nachos another night.

From left to right: Brandon, CJ, me (ecstatic to be in
between such rock star people!), Susannah, and Helen

My last big adventure occurred last week when Susannah and I went up to Seattle for a few sundry purposes. The principal reason for our visit was so I could meet some of Susannah's extended family who are as close to her as parents and siblings. We also wanted to explore the University of Washington campus, since I'm considering applying for a masters there, as well as to see Seattle University, Susannah's alma mater, since I find great delight in learning more about the past of people that I love deeply. First of all, Susannah's family is wonderful, and they treated me so well. Her Uncle Topher let us sleep at his beautiful place on Capitol Hill, the hip, gay-friendly neighborhood of Seattle. Her Aunt Julie and Uncle Daniel, who have a gorgeous house overlooking a lake, hosted us all for a delicious dinner of prawns, salmon, pesto pasta and then coffee and ice cream for dessert. The entire meal was full of hearty laughs, connections, and getting-to-know-each-other tales of our lives. It was so fun and heartwarming. When dinner ended, Uncle Topher took Susannah and me out to some dance clubs around his house where we had a blast dancing and just feeling young and alive. We had an amazing time.

UW's Suzzallo Library. How could you not want to study in
there, especially when the reading room looks like something
from Harry Potter?

Our visit to the University of Washington was stunning, and even though I've seen many campuses in my lifetime, I think the University of Washington is the prettiest or second prettiest I've ever seen (with the Universidad de Salamanca, in Spain, being the other contender in the ring). Though I am no expert in architecture, the buildings looked primarily neo-Gothic to me, and the landscaping, using lots of cherry trees and a long drag of tree-lined grass framing a view of Mt. St. Helens, was immaculately designed and executed. I felt sparks with the university the whole time we strolled around its grounds. Later, Susannah and I went to Gas Works Park, a park of grassy knolls and old industrial factory remains that frames Seattle's downtown perfectly between residential hills laterally and part of the Puget Sound in the foreground. I was literally so giddy with love for Seattle that I was laughing out loud. I have never had chemistry with a place like I did with Seattle, and I am absolutely going to apply for its masters in comparative literature since I think I could live a great life in Seattle for two (or more) years. We had a total connection.

One of four symmetrical buildings framing the quad, a large
grassy area lined with cherry trees. Can you imagine how
this looks in the spring when the trees are in bloom?

Seattle, folks. Ain't she purdy? Like my older sister
Laura, I too have fallen in love with this astounding
city.

I hope you all are well. You're constantly in my thoughts and always safe in my heart.

Portland: Pulchritude and Play

Oregon, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

Yes, I plagiarize (with a one-word addition) a famous poem of Elizabeth Barrett Browning to begin this post only because my first two weeks in Oregon have been so unbelievably rich and chock full of experiences that I will need to count my memories and the Oregonian things with which I am already enamored. The list is quite long, especially given the brevity of my time here.

Susannah and I departed on Sunday morning, August 12, 2012 for Portland. I wore running clothes in the car so that I could take brief jogs every time we stopped, and after 5 five-minute runs, I was able to say that I had a slightly less sedentary day than I normally do while traveling. The car ride was great--Susannah and I spoke about everything relevant about the past, present, and future, and we also listened to three chapters (called "books" by Milton) of Paradise Lost from the CDs that Susannah checked out from the public library in Portland. When we finally arrived to Portland at 1:00 AM on Monday morning, we were exhausted and ready to crash but happy to be home.

Susannah and I live in a small, cute house with Susannah's sister Margaret. We live in Northeast Portland, which is known as being a little less yuppie and a little more fun than the other vicinities of Portland. Our neighborhood is stunningly gorgeous--each house has its own personality, and every yard is full of enormous trees, beautiful flowers, and foliage of other sorts. Our own house has an enormous backyard with a coop and fenced-in yard for the four chickens whose daily eggs are eaten and enjoyed. (After watching a documentary on how terribly chickens are frequently abused in the factory-farm system, seeing four healthy hens that each have names, lots of space to run around, and are fed a healthy diet with no strange growth hormones, I am so happy!) Since I'm talking about environmental causes, let me brag about how incredible Portland and our house is. In Portland, there is curbside recycling for everything, and it's amazing. There is also curbside composting, so we collect all of our organic waste in a separate container that is then composted to become soil. Portland is apparently one of the most biker-friendly cities in the country, and I have put this to the test and found it to be true. There are designated biker lanes on many streets, and there are always lots of bikers around at any given time.

I think it's probably fair to say (though I don't have an official statistic to back it up) that most people in Portland have their own garden or, at the very least, their own fruit-yielding trees. In the brief time that I have been here, I've been given a bag of fresh figs from Susannah's cousin and her husband, a bunch of vegetables (onions, peas, kale, and the like) from Susannah's friend Annie, a box of blackberries and a cucumber salad from some new friends of mine (more later) named Brett and Jana, and probably more that I can't remember right now. People give and show love by sharing their homegrown produce, and it's wonderful. This is one of the most fecund, verdant places I have ever seen, and it's paradisaical. There are fruit trees all around town that are heavy with fruit--you'll literally see plums being squashed on the sidewalk because they have just fallen before anyone could get to them. Our backyard is covered in apples that we haven't been able to eat that have fallen to the ground. I picked a bunch of sun-ripened blackberries along the side of the highway today. It's the Garden of Eden here.

The view of the forested hills from the ascent up
Saddle Mountain

I have been able to have so many adventures here, most of which I owe to Susannah's initiative and taking me to great places in her car. Susannah and I both love to hike, and we have literally gone on so many hikes that I can't keep track of all of them. We did a 5 mile round trip hike up Saddle Mountain, which was my first Oregonian hike and really beautiful. The same day, we did a brief, 2 mile or so trip to a beach on the Pacific Ocean called Indian Beach that was shockingly beautiful. A different day, we went on a 12 (I think) mile round trip hike in the Silver Creek Falls area where we saw more than 10 different waterfalls, each unique, some of which we got to stand behind and experience from the other side. We spent another full day doing doing a 14 mile hike around the crest of Mt. Hood, Oregon's highest point. The hike was called Paradise Park, and since it was difficult to get there, there were hardly no people and we could enjoy the fields of wildflowers all to ourselves. There were so many flowers and bees buzzing around that it literally smelled like honey along much of our hike. It was incredible and an experience unlike any I have had before. Here are a few photos (including the one to the left of this paragraph) from the four hikes I mention here.

The coast here is marvelous, with jagged rocks and pine trees
next to fine sand beaches, like Indian Beach, barely visible
below. This part of the Pacific Northwest is a temperate
rainforest, which I didn't even know existed as a biome.

One of the many falls we saw on the Silver Creek
hike. See the tunnel in the rock behind the waterfall?
We got to stand there on multiple of these and see
the water from behind.

 

A vew of Mt. Adams from near the top of Mt. Hood on the
Paradise Park trail

 

A field of wildflowers near Mt. Hood on the Paradise Park
hike that was so fecund that it smelled just like honey

As you can see, the nature up here is gorgeous. However, I've had a couple of adventures involving people rather than just the outdoors, as well. Susannah and I have been reading a Shakespeare play a week, and we started with Much Ado About Nothing since there was a free production of it in a park. We read it, analyzed it, and then watched it with a couple of her friends, a couple named Jana and Bret. Jana and Bret liked me, so they invited me to hang out the next day. We all went bowling, and it was super fun. I'm still a lousy bowler, but I had a great time and made a couple of new friends. (Mom and Dad, you'll be proud--they both have their MBAs and are in the business field! :) )

In the back are me and Brett. I don't remember the name of the
guy in the front, but he was also really nice to me. I hope
he doesn't stumble across this blog!

I've also had the privilege to sample a little of Portland's cuisine. (I'm not letting myself spend too much "fun" money since I'm not making any money yet, but my inner child doesn't mind spending a little bit for frivolous pursuits.) I ate at an entirely vegan restaurant and had some of the best frito pie of my life made with tofu sour cream, cashew cheese, and some other funky things. I also went to the strangest and coolest ice cream shop I have ever seen in my life called the Salt and Straw. Let me tell you some of the flavor names and give you their descriptions:

1) Summer Corn Buttermilk Sorbet
2) Boke Bowl--"Fish Sauce Caramel makes for sweet and tangy ribbons in Kaffir Lime Leaf and Lemongrass ice cream"
3) Pear with Blue Cheese

I ended up getting a scoop of the latter, and it was really good. I tried a spoonful of the Boke Bowl, but the fish sauce was too much for me. Ice cream with stinky cheese and fruit? I'll give it a go. Ice cream with animal products? No gracias, amigo. I suppose we all have our limits. I also discovered the best bread on the planet (right after Mom's homemade wheat bread after fast Sunday, of course), and it's called "Dave's Killer Bread." Read this story on the bread bag:

"I was a four-time loser before I realized I was in the wrong game. 15 years in prison is a pretty tough way to find oneself, but I have no regrets. This time around, I took advantage of all those long and lonely days by practicing my guitar, exercising, and getting to know myself--without drugs. To my utter amazement, I started liking what I was seeing. It's been said adversity introduces a man to himself and I found this to be true. If I had not suffered, I can safely assure you that you would not be reading the label on a loaf of my killer bread. A whole lot of suffering has transformed an ex-con into an honest man who is doing his best to make the world a better place...one loaf of bread at a time."

His bread is all organic, all natural, and so scrumptious. The list of ingredients is short, with everything on there a recognizable item found in nature (there aren't preservatives, so you have to eat it pretty quickly), and the only reason some of his loaves have long lists of ingredients is because one of his breads contains 21 grains! It's so tasty, and it's worth paying a little extra for.

Anyway, Portland is funky, quirky, hip, and gorgeous. People are idiosyncratic, iconoclastic, and really nice. I feel completely at home here. I'll stop writing for now, but expect more posts about other happenings in the chapter of my life I spend here in the Pacific Northwest. I'll tell you soon about my job (yes, I got a job!) and the other neat things happening around me.

Coming Home

I want to begin this post with an enormous thank you to my incredible family. The few weeks I spent in Laramie were not merely enriched but were rather filled with happiness and emotional resilience only because of them. My parents, Larry and Jenny, generously offered me the guest room of their home and included me in their daily schedule, meals and all, without batting an eyelid. My siblings still living at home, Amy and Josh, instantly integrated me into their lives and kept me fulfilled and growing with the activities that we did together. The three other siblings that live near Laramie but not at the parents' house, Maria, Laura, and Paul, all supported me and treated me as if no time had elapsed since the last time we spoke in person. And Carolyn, who lives in Massachusetts, laughed with and listened to me on the phone and will be getting a visit from me in person as soon as I can arrange it so I can give her my love in person. I love my family so much.

Coming home to Wyoming was incredible. Although I didn't experience too much "reverse culture shock," there were certainly some things about the United States that I had forgotten. In the Denver International Airport, I was shocked to see how obese a few people were. The average American is probably pretty similar to the average Spaniard in terms of weight--pretty healthy, if carrying a few extra pounds. But the rates of obesity are very different between our two countries, and that was instantly apparent to me. I also noticed how wide streets are in Wyoming and how much water we put in our toilets. The little things really stuck out to me, which I found comical.

There was a collection of things that I really missed while in Spain, and it felt great to be back with them. I missed my Norton Anthology of the Complete Works of Shakespeare, and I've already dived into it with Much Ado About Nothing, a famous comedy of the Bard's. I also missed my pull-up bar and used it a few times after runs I took along the ridge above the Mormon Church in Laramie, a stretch of land that is slowly being developed as a residential neighborhood. I also had missed my bike while in Spain and rode it around town, loving the feel of the pedals beneath my feet and the burn in my thighs as I pumped away. It was wonderful to be reunited with old things, and opening up old boxes of clothes was like receiving a whole new wardrobe. It was like Christmas Day in July. :)

I spent my time in Laramie doing many fulfilling things. Amy and I had generated an enormous list of movies to watch while together in Spain and France, and we were quite systematic in picking them off, one by one, night by night. We watched movies related to France (The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Man in the Iron Mask), a classic thriller movie that is one of my all-time favorites (Minority Report), as well as a host of chick-flicks (Sense and Sensibility, Eclipse, New Year's Eve). They were all great, and it was fun to enjoy cinema with my sister. She and I also studied vocabulary and talked about strategies for the ACT and college applications, and I know that she will have enormous success and will be able to do whatever it is she wants with her life. She is so talented and bright, and the world is her oyster. Josh and I were really good about going to the Recreation Center to work out our abdominal muscles (since Josh really wants washboard abs) and to work on our swimming strokes (since Josh is going to join the swim team next year). It was so fun to teach Josh how to swim different strokes, how to breathe properly, how to flip-turn, how to do a breaststroke pull-out, how to start off the blocks, and other things of the sort. He's a fast learner, and he'll love doing the swim team with Laramie's Tom Hudson. The entire family also watched the Olympics almost every night, cheering for US wins, gasping and sighing as people fell off the pommel horse, and enjoying this once-every-four-years spectacle.

A beautiful cake made by Mary Centrella, my brilliant,
supportive, hilarious red-headed friend who spent
quality time with me and helped me process a difficult
relationship

From left to right: my mother, my youngest brother Josh,
my father, my younger sister Amy, and my older sister Laura,
all some of the most amazing people you'll ever meet

I was also able to do a couple of things to support the Fulbright mission of fostering mutual understanding between nations, a creed that I take seriously and intend to implement throughout the rest of my life when possible. The first activity was simply to make a Spanish repast for my family, which was a success. I started cooking late Sunday morning and didn't leave the kitchen until dinner was finished. I made chilled gazpacho (a cold, pureed vegetable soup), a tortilla (made with potato, onion, and egg in Spain), a chicken and vegetable paella as the main dish, virgin sangría to drink, and arroz con leche for dessert. Some of the rice in the paella was still hard, but in general, the family enjoyed the meal, and it was so fun to explain the different dishes and talk more about Spain, a country that I love and miss. We were also able to host David, Félix, and Kelly for a day while David and Félix were in the States on vacation. We made them a traditional American meal that was a really tasty chicken barbecue with baked beans, corn on the cob, green bean casserole, A&W root beer, and other "all-American" things. They loved the meal, and they loved my family. My family was so open to them and treated them with warm hearts. It was beautiful to see how much mutual respect they all had one for another. And it was great finally to get to host Spaniards in my country and not the other way around.

From left to right, again: Kelly Moore, the best roommate
a guy could ask for while in Madrid; David, a screenwriter;
Félix, David's boyfriend and a Spanish language and literature
teacher; and me, rocking my Spain jersey to wear my pride on
my sleeve

Ali working her tush off, making rounds of calls and assiduously
documenting everything that she does in their computer database

While staying in Laramie, I was also fortunate to get to make two important trips. One of them was down to Aurora, Colorado, to see one of my best friends, Alison Ganem. Ali is working for the Obama campaign, and though she is happy to be aiding a political campaign in which she believes, she is being worked so many hours a day 7 days a week that there is literally hardly time for anything else. I felt so bad for her and how frazzled she said she was feeling, and I was overwhelmed with gratitude that my life isn't so hectic and that my jobs have never been so all-consuming. She and I canvassed together and updated voter registration in a parking lot in which 75% of the people spoke Spanish as a first language. It was so great to get to use my Spanish to help documented immigrants become politically active. Spending time with Ali warmed my heart, as always, and once she was finally done working at 10:30 PM on a Sunday evening, we went to IHOP and talked like old chums over a breakfasty dinner. I can't wait for her to get her life back after the elections in November.

I was also fortunate enough to get to borrow my mom's car to drive to the western part of Wyoming and down into Salt Lake City and Provo. In western Wyoming, I spent the afternoon with my sister Maria. She is thriving there, and it was wonderful to see her. Her husband, Clark, is re-tiling their house, and it looks great. Their house is spacious and beautiful, and their backyard is enormous, leaving lots of space for their energetic dog, Pepper. Their children, Will, Rosie, and Adalyn, are all beautiful, bright, and very kind to their Uncle Bob. And Maria is as great as ever, growing as a mother, wife, and independent woman, continuing to find the best life for her. We had really good, healing talks, and it was truly a miracle to get to spend the time that we had together. I then drove into Deer Valley where I spent the evening with the Johnsons and with my old friend John Bonner. The Johnsons invited me to a delicious buffet dinner and then to see a show called "Broadway Rocks!" in which the Utah Symphony Orchestra performed Broadway classics and classic rock hits with Broadway stars. The show was phenomenal and included "The Wizard and I" from Wicked, a couple of songs from The Phantom of the Opera, and a chilling version of "I Will Always Love You" that was literally as good as Whitney Houston (which I thought was impossible) and brought me to tears. The show was out of this world, and John and I then went back to the Johnsons' "cabin" in Deer Valley where I spent the night in a room larger than some peoples' entire house. This "cabin" was one of the most opulent buildings I have ever seen and included at least 5 master bedroom suites, a fiber optic bar in the kitchen, a ceiling of constellations and shooting stars, a full exercise room, an indoor waterfall, a cave shower, and other amenities. It was ridiculously elegant and such a pleasure to spend an evening there and then to speak with Peter in the morning about law school and my different career options.

The Cowboy Suite, where I slept, which had a balcony
that opened to an incredible view.

I also got to spend more time with John, an old friend from BYU, as well as Julia Potter, a good friend from BYU who is now engaged and looking beautiful and healthy in general. Lastly, and very importantly, I drove down to Provo to spend the evening with Dr. George Handley. Dr. Handley is one of my greatest heroes, both academically and personally. I have a link to his blog, and I encourage everyone to check it out. This man is brilliant, compassionate, and very intentional about living his Mormon ethics to make this world a healthier place. He and I spoke for hours in the comfort of his beautiful home in Provo. We talked about our lives, he gave me advice about my profession and my future, and he commended me for not being a purist when it came to environmentalism. It was a fruitful, enjoyable conversation, and I regret so much that we won't be able to study together in a professor-student relationship ever again because of some limiting factors. Nevertheless, we will always be close, and he will always be a role-model and mentor of mine. I'm so grateful to have him in my life.

Everything about being home was extremely positive except for some emotional entanglements that I accidentally got roped into with some manipulative individuals and my ex-boyfriend. It got particularly ugly and sad for me to deal with once or twice during my time in Wyoming, but my family was entirely there for me and helped me find the strength to push through despite a lot of shock, disillusionment, and occasional sorrow. If anything, this disagreeable situation was a reminder to me  to treat others with dignity and respect, to be intentional about romantic relationships, and to desire always nothing but the best for oneself and others. Though I felt really confused and wounded by what happened, I think the clouds have dispersed and I've re-found my happiness and confidence.

Once again, thank you to my amazing family for filling my days with joy and for giving me a place to stay. It was such a pleasure to catch up with my loved ones again and spend some time in the city that I will always call home. I miss you all and will write about my adventures in Oregon soon. (Yes, they've already begun!)

Finishing What I Started: Cuenca, the Last Despedidas, and Vacationing with My Family

A somewhat-panoramic view of the old city on the cliff

Knowing my tenure in Spain was quickly coming to an end, I decided to take one last day-trip to a city that had come highly recommended by Benito but hardly mentioned by most other Spaniards eager to evangelize the beauties of their country. Cuenca is in Castilla-La Mancha, the comunidad famous for being the setting of Cervantes's El ingenioso Don Quijote de la Mancha as well as the region where Toledo, the capital of Visigothic Spain and the seat of government for Catholic Spain until Felipe II moved it to Madrid, is found. I caught a bus out to Cuenca in the morning and, upon arrival, began the hike from the low-altitude bus station up to the austere stone cliffs upon which Cuenca's historic, beautiful part of the city lies. Though the heat in this dry, sweltering part of the country was formidable as I ascended to the high part of the city, the views were so breathtaking that I could hardly think about the sun's rays and the torrents of sweat running down my back.

The casas colgadas, one of which houses
a modern art museum, the other of which
is now a tapas restaurant

Cuenca was a small, very quiet town, and I noticed that it was not mobbed by tourists like some other Spanish towns are. I enjoyed hours of solace walking around the stony architecture of a city built on the cliffs produced by the erosion caused by two rivers, the Júcar and the Huécar. Cuenca is most famous for its casas colgadas, or hanging houses, buildings constructed right on the edge of a steep precipice whose balconies hang over the cliff. They were really impressive edifices, even if one might not be able to take in the sunset in a relaxed manner on such a precariously positioned balcony! The city was full of other impressive structures, as well, from a large bridge (el puente de San Pablo) built over a gorge to the Gothic cathedral of which I took a slow, guided tour in order to savor its relics and history (and enjoy a much cooler climate inside its stone walls and shadows).

The facade on the cathedral had to be rebuilt after
it crumbled and is utterly impressive

After my return from Cuenca, I only had a few days left before my parents and two of my siblings came to Spain to begin a family vacation with me. This time was spent cleaning, packing, and saying last good-byes. I had many tender moments with my students, all of whom went out of their way to thank me for the year we spent together. A few kids who never seemed to enjoy class bought me a plush bull with a Spanish-flag-looking scarf. Others wrote me beautiful and sometimes comical notes, including Martín, initially one of my most difficult students who ended up being one of my closest buddies. After encouraging him not to tell racist and homophobic jokes at the beginning of the year, he and I started talking, and we eventually got close. He always put his arm around me in our PE class, and he always wanted me on his team. During one baseball game, we were on opposite teams, and my team had very few of the athletic kids. Martín was pitching, and I wanted to get a home-run for my downtrodden team of nonathletic 12 year-olds. I swung with lots of force, and the (fortunately) plush ball flew directly at Martín's gonads. I didn't hurt him too badly, and we ended up being able to laugh about it. His last note to me said "thanks for breaking my huevos," which literally means "eggs" and is how you say "nuts" in Spanish slang. Another one of my students, Fran, made me laugh, as well. Fran had always been laconic and slightly morose, though always pleasant and a good student. He told me he had prepared a song to play for me on his guitar. Expecting something to do with saying good-bye or expressing appreciation, I was slightly shocked when he started playing the riffs to Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit." I danced like a crazy man to show my appreciation for his song, and the other students thought their American teacher was loco. We had a great time, with lots of mutual gratitude, a few tears, and the knowledge that we all helped each other have a good year.

Saying farewell to my fellow teachers and friends was also a pleasant experience. Kelly, my roommate, and I celebrated her birthday and our year living together by eating lunch in the restaurant of the National Opera of Madrid, an extremely swanky restaurant that created an unforgettable setting. I will miss Kelly and her astuteness, humor, and good nature. At my school, everyone pitched in both money and labor to prepare a delicious feast of which the main course were three gargantuan paellas. We all chatted on the patio of the kids' playground while eating tasty paella and other Spanish dishes. I said good-bye to many beloved people then and thanked them for welcoming me into their pedagogical community.

Nothing says "Spain" more than a large paella covered
in succulent prawns. ¡Buen provecho!

When all of my good-byes were said and done, and after I had handed over the key to my apartment, I spent the day in anxious anticipation for the arrival of my parents. I had one last lunch with Selma, my brilliant Franco-German friend whose idealism and occasionally sardonic wit keep me honest, and then I simply read in a cafeteria while waiting for my parents and my two youngest siblings, Amy and Josh, to arrive for our vacation together. That Friday, the 29th of June, was the beginning of Gay Pride in Madrid, supposedly one of the biggest gay pride celebrations in the world. The city had a special air about it--Chueca, the "gayborhood," was decked out in rainbow flags and full of information booths and gay couples. On the metro, I saw a young, twenty-something couple composed of one punk-looking guy and another athletic-looking type be subtly affectionate towards each other, and it made my day. While waiting in the airport for my family, I was just overcome with gratitude both for a great year in Spain and to be spending time with the people that I love the most and then going back to the United States with them. They finally arrived, and we all embraced and began to chat upon first glance. That marked the beginning of two weeks of an incredible vacation.

Our family awaits the arrival of the pizzas and the start of
the big game, and I look slightly drunk on enthusiasm

We started with a few days in the Community of Madrid and the near proximity. We visited Felipe II's spartan monastery and palace known as El Escorial, drove up to my school and walked around (and laughed about the Spanish curse words spray-painted on the building), saw the castle in Manzanares el Real, visited the city of Segovia, enjoyed the gardens and fountains of La Granja just outside Segovia, and even spent a day walking around the center of Madrid itself. These days were packed with Spanish history and walking all around to see some stunning sights. However, not every minute was spent on Spain's past: our family also ordered some pizzas and drinks and watched Spain slaughter Italy to win the Eurocup 4 to 0. Multiple of us were in our Spain jerseys, and we were in a crowd of Spaniards who burst into a rousing round of "Yo soy español" ("I am Spanish") to exhibit their pride at their record-setting team. It was such an enjoyable night to be in Spain, and all of us were exuberant that our host country had tasted such sweet success in a sport that means so much to Europeans.

Next came southern Spain where we spent some time in Granada at a hotel right at the base of the hill where the Alhambra rests. I had seen the Alhambra before, but it was a different experience to be there during the hot summer months and to do the "nocturnal visit" to the Nazrid palaces, which looked stunning in the artificial light.

The Alhambra's red and brown earth tones blend
harmoniously with the verdure around it

My beautiful siblings, Amy and Josh, enjoying the waves
of southern Spain

By this point, we were all a little tired and ready for some relaxation on the beach. Our next couple of days were spent along the southern coast of Spain, seeing towns like Algeciras, Marbella, and Tarifa. I had never seen these southern beaches before and loved their gentle yet consistent waves and the white-washed settlements in the rolling hills right above them. We all really enjoyed our tropical repose, but poor Mom was stung by a jellyfish and is still curing the blister and the rash that it left on her calf.

Dad bravely allows the snake to be stuffed into his
neckline and down into his shirt

Our next adventure was one of our wildest--we all caught a ferry across the short Strait of Gibraltar in order to spend a day in Morocco. I was quite simply shocked at how different Morocco was from Spain. Instantly after getting off the ferry, an aggressive salesman kept telling us to hire one of his tour guides. We gave him audience and heard him out, and we ended up deciding to hire one of his guides, which was a good decision in the end. Our tour guide was a seventy-something Moroccan named La Roussi who spoke remarkably good English and Spanish and who showed us all around Tangier. We saw quite a bit of poverty, a snake charmer who convinced three of us to wrap a snake around our necks, and an ancient tree bigger than any I have seen before. It was fascinating, and it really fueled my interest in serving in the Peace Corps to understand better other, non-Western cultures and societies of people who will live their lives in lower socioeconomic brackets than anything I have experienced in my privileged life in North America.

The coastal city of San Sebastián seen from our view
after riding a funicular

After southern Spain, we headed north, stopping only briefly in Salamanca to see its elegant architecture and attend a Mormon church there. The north of Spain was a region to which I had never travelled before, and I found it stunning. No picture of Spain is complete without seeing the lush, rainy, verdant lands of the north. I visited and toured the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela with my family and vowed that, before I die, I will do the Camino de Santiago and visit that cathedral again. We also traveled around the Basque Country and enjoyed once again the greenness of the land and the shades of greens and blues in their seas. It was beautiful and, despite my love for the Mediterranean beaches, probably more to my personal liking than the southern coast. I felt like I discovered a new Spain while in the north, and that was really rewarding.

The Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, the end of
a long trek across northern Spain for many pilgrims starting in
the Middle Ages

Though rainy, the city of Paris still shines like the jewel it
is, with majestic buildings and manicured gardens all around

After exploring northern Spain, our last destination was Paris. We spent a day driving north across France, and we noticed both that France was quite a bit greener and much flatter than Spain. When we pulled into Paris and got stuck in the metropolis's traffic, we all wondered whether or not the Eiffel Tower would be easily visible. We turned a corner with our vehicle and, out of nowhere, we saw both a beautiful skyline of skyscrapers and the impressive sight of the Eiffel Tower, perhaps the most iconic symbol of that enchanting city. Though I had extremely high expectations for Paris after seeing Paris, je t'aime and hearing from many people how romantic and charming of a city it is, I wasn't let down at all and in fact think the French capital exceeded my expectations, difficult as that was to do. The city is literally crawling with tourists, which was not always comfortable and made me feel a little cliche just being there, but I suppose that's the price you pay to be in one of the most famous and unbelievably beautiful cities in the world. Our family visited Versailles one day and were stunned by the opulence and the grandeur of the palace and its surrounding grounds and other buildings now used to commemorate "toutes les gloires de la France" ("all the glories of France"). We also enjoyed warm Nutella crêpes while looking at the Eiffel Tower, and I felt in that moment so giddy to be embracing so many French stereotypes. We then waited three hours in wind and rain to be able to ascend the Eiffel Tower, yet all of us ended up thinking it was well worth it once we caught the breathtaking views of the majestic city afforded from the elevated vantage point of the Tower.

A great photo I snapped of the illuminated
Tower after having been high within it

In Paris, we also explored the Louvre and enjoyed seeing everything from La Joconde (Mona Lisa) to the enormous painted portrayal of Napoleon I crowning his Empress. We explored the Egyptian treasures for Josh and me, and we even saw things like the Code of Hammurabi, the oldest written code of law that actually predates the Jewish Pentateuch. Paris held other treasures, too, like sea-salt caramel ice cream, a cute, flirtatious boy who worked at the boulangerie where we got our morning croissants, and the Cathedral of Notre Dame, an edifice that inspired Amy and I to watch Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame the first day we got back from our vacation. It was a truly remarkable city, and my desire to go back there, learn more French, and live like a true Parisian is almost burning now. We'll see if I can make that dream come true.

Notre Dame, the city's central cathedral

Returning home has been so wonderful. The denizens of Laramie are extremely warm and open people, and it has been great to take runs in the streets I know best and just spend quality time with my family members and loved ones over meals, movies, workouts at the Recreation Center, and the like. I will miss Europe, but I'm also happy to be home. I know I will go back when I want to, and that fact consoles me. Thank you everyone for accompanying me and supporting me on my sojourn in Spain. I'm now back in the United States for the foreseeable future but know that my life journey will not end, and I will likely continue to update this blog, even if I change it's title and background image to reflect the fact that I'm no longer living in Spain. Thank you for reading and au revoir.

Sevilla and Bullfighting

My friend Ryan is a Fulbright scholar in Sevilla, though his scholarship is not for teaching but is rather a dual performance/research scholarship, and Ryan's passion is flamenco. Flamenco is a uniquely Spanish form of dance characterized by many recognizable tropes, including the long, often black and red dresses of the women (known as a bata de cola); the classical guitar that strums minor key but rhythmical chords; the people clapping their hands in the background to the beat (palmeros); and most centrally highlighted, the dancer who uses rapid, successive foot taps, gyrating wrists, and snapping fingers to express a world of emotion with their body and face. It is a very Spanish form of dance and figures in many caricatures and stereotypes of Spain.

The cathedral was too large and occupied too many square
meters to capture all of it within one photo on my camera

Ryan had a flamenco performance last weekend, and knowing that I wanted to come to Sevilla to see a city of so much renown and historical import, he invited me to see him dance and spend the weekend in Sevilla, and I happily accepted. I caught the most economical form of transportation (the bus, which is also the slowest method of arrival) to Sevilla on Thursday afternoon and arrived late Thursday night to Ryan's smiling face waiting for me in the bus station. The next morning began my official tour of the city. Ryan had to spend a bulk of the day preparing for his event that evening, so I took it upon myself to see the things in the city that interested me and struck me as worthy of visiting during my limited time. Fortunately, much of Sevilla's touristy gems are located right within the center of the city (which is true for many cities, I suppose), so I headed to the central plaza where I was greeted by one of the most stunning cathedrals I've ever seen in my life. Spain is simply a land of incredible cathedrals, and though some of my Spanish friends tire of these "predictable" churches, they never cease to astound me, probably because I'm an American and wasn't raised in a society in which a gigantic Gothic cathedral can be expected in any given city of a certain population. This is why Europe is so intoxicating and pleasantly overwhelming to an American: it's steeped in history to the point that you can almost become inured to just how ancient and marvelous everything around you truly is. I, for one, am not hardened to it yet, and that is why my poor readers have to endure my descriptions of cathedrals every week that I post and my excessive use of the words "intricate" and "stunning." Trust me, though, these cathedrals really are intricate and stunning. :)

The elaborate archways and entrances to
cathedrals are always enthralling to me

The cathedral was a stunning edifice, so full of rooms that it actually required a chunk of time to experience it properly. Unbeknowst to me, one of the two places that claims to be the final resting place of Christopher Columbus is the cathedral in Sevilla, so I stopped and paid homage at the mausoleum where one of history's most important people rests. Columbus is the reason that the principal languages spoken in the American continent are Spanish, Portuguese, and English rather than nahuatl and quechua. Columbus and his maritime endorsement from Isabel of Castilla is the reason that Spanish is spoken in around 20 countries in the contemporary world. Columbus is the reason I'm a white, anglophone American. This man shaped the course of history, and it was stunning to be beside his beautiful grave and attempt to consider the truly unfathomable reaches of his fortuitous and accidental discovery.

One corner of the magnificent cathedral is a famous tower called la Giralda, once used as the prayer minaret when the building was a Muslim mosque before the Christian reconquest of Spain. Visitors are allowed to ascend the tower, and the view of Sevilla from on top was fascinating because the city, for all of its charm and history, is not a gem of European structural design but rather looks like a somewhat crammed city where a Mediterranean people try to survive the scorching estival heat. Southern Spain is quite different from that of the north, and the Muslim and African roots and influence absolutely survive to this day.

In that central plaza was also a square building known as the Archivo de Indias, or the general archives of the "Indies." It is the single most important research archive of information on the conquest and settlement of the Americas by the Spanish empire and boasts a fascinating collection of documents, including handwritten letters from Columbus to the Spanish Crown at the time (Isabel and Fernando), correspondence between Felipe II and his New World viceroys in which he explains exactly how even the minutia must be executed in his empire's new land, and other things of the sort. This was history at its finest--overwhelming, perplexing, and explanatory.

That evening, Ryan had his performance. The female dancer who went before him is a passionate and fabulous dancer, and I felt like it would be difficult to follow her and attempt to fill those (flamenco style) shoes. Ryan, however, was absolutely the star of the spectacle. With his feet moving a mile a minute and his torso and hands alternating between slower motions of feeling the rising and falling of the music and then sudden, graceful actions at the height of the passion, it was quite the show to watch. All of the audience members, myself included, shouted "anda," "ala," and "olé" multiple times as his art moved us to verbal ejaculations. It was a great show, and afterwards Ryan, his cool cousin Kara (more on her later) and I went out with his Sevilla friends and flamenco cohorts to celebrate.

Though the photo quality is poor and the picture fuzzy, this
highlights how dynamic flamenco is and how much it needs
to be felt and experienced live and firsthand

 Once Ryan was finished with his performance, he and his cousin Kara were able to spend the rest of their time with me. We went to the real alcázar (royal stronghold) that was built in the Moorish architectural style, and it was unexpectedly fantastic. I was so impressed that I still maintain that it rivals Granada's Alhambra and truly is a close second, though it doesn't get even a quarter of the mentions that the Alhambra does.  



Open-air patios with shallow ponds, accentuating flora, and
millions of small, glimmering azulejos (tiles) make for
beautiful spaces in Muslim architecture

Sevilla is also home to the most beautiful plaza that I have ever seen, called the Plaza de España. It was built for an enormous art and culture exposition that Sevilla hosted more than a hundred years ago, and it remains as a tranquil, beautiful monument just a brief walk away from the center of the city in a placid, verdant park. By the way, if it looks familiar to you, it's because Star Wars: The Attack of the Clones filmed it for one of its scenes! Yup, that's right, folks. This plaza in Sevilla was used for a scene when Amidala and Anakin Skywalker are on Naboo. Check it out by clicking here. (The clip is dubbed in Spanish, like many foreign films in Spain are, which is why some Spaniards believe they struggle much more than other Europeans to learn foreign languages.)

Once I had said good-bye to Ryan and caught the bus back home on Sunday afternoon, I had a ticket to see my first bull fight here in Madrid. I went alone and sat alone, and given that the enormous bull ring (called "Las Ventas") was not even a quarter sold out, there was no one sitting next to me at all. A bull fight is a very ritualized process in which six bulls are killed in a systematic, colorful, ceremonial way. The bull is first let loose into the ring where about six men with shiny pieces of thick cloth (called a capote) induce it to run between them by making noises and waving their pink capotes at it. Next enter two men on heavily protected horses. These men have long spears, and they are given a few minutes to hit the bull. When they spear the bull, he gets angry and attacks the horse, and two horses in my show were knocked over. The poor horses are totally blind-folded so that they don't run from the angry bull, and it was sad to see such a majestic creature knocked over and blind on the ground.

The poor horse is largely defenseless on the ground. The
bull has to be distracted so that the men in red can lift the
horse up and remove it from the ring.

The bloody bull receives its fatal wound from the colorful
matador, whose sword is deep inside the bull's entrails

The bull now has a long strip of bloody hide on its back due to the spears. Next come a series of bull fighters whose job it is to run to the bull with two small, colorful spikes, jump, and implant the pikes into his back. Oftentimes the spikes stick in his back, and oftentimes they fall out. Once these spikers are done, the matador, or killer, comes out. He has the red capote and a sword, and he is the typical bull fighter image that we think of in the United States. He taunts the bull, which is very bloody and weaker by now, and wins the audience's applause. Then, when he's ready, he uses his capote just right so that he can approach the bull head on and plunge a sword through its back down to its heart. There were three matadores in my show who each had two bulls a piece. Two of them were pretty bad at the mortal sword plunge and had to try multiple times before their bulls expired. One of them "lost" to the bull and the bull scooped it up in his horns and threw him to the ground, and the crowd all gasped and stood to its feet. The bull then slowly staggers and eventually collapses to the ground where it is stabbed once again to make sure it is dead before its body is hauled around the ring and then out by a pack of horses.

My opinions, you ask? I think I can say that I am slightly against the practice. At the end of the day, it is the torture and slow killing of an animal, even if it is shrouded in spectacle and sport. The bull spurts blood out of its mouth and gets its back and guts stabbed repeatedly for about half an hour before it finally dies of blood loss, exhaustion, and punctured heart and lungs. If my description sounds gross, it's because it is gross. The thing is, though, if we eat chicken that is given hormones to make its breasts larger, so large that it can't stand on its feet, and then we have to clip its beak because its so miserable in its poopy-smelling, crowded cage where no light ever penetrates that it pecks its own flesh, is that much better? Is it much better to tie up a baby cow so that it can't even move which will mean more tender veal on our plates when we slaughter the young thing that never even had a chance to move? I guess I think we need to be consistent about our beliefs. Bull fighting is animal cruelty for sure, but if we oppose bull fighting, we should also oppose other forms of torturing sentient life forms. I don't oppose eating meat like I used to because I think it's part of the cycle of life and a nutrient source that can be healthy for humans. But we're an ethical creature with a capacity to philosophize and to love, and I think we should raise animals in a healthy, natural way and then slaughter them as quickly and then painlessly as possible. There's my soapbox for the day! I've opined, and I hope you do, too, even if you disagree.

Despite the fact that I think I'm slightly against bull fights, I have no regrets about seeing the one I saw. It was fascinating and made me feel uncomfortable in the best of ways. I kept thinking that this was the closest I would ever get to understanding Roman gladiator battles (which many anthropologists think were the predecessors and origin of the bull fights) or bear and bull baiting done in Elizabethan England during Shakespeare's day. I learned so much and am grateful I went.

A week from yesterday, my parents and my two youngest siblings come to Spain for summer vacations, and then we fly home to the good ol' US of A! I can't wait to give you all enormous hugs!