Un Poco de Español and English

Del Torre de Jarro (y sí pronuncia la “j” porque es Valenciano)

¡Dénia! ¡Bienvenidos a Dénia mis amigos! Llegue aquí, a España, del día que salí de San Francisco, he hablado más español que inglés (en Alemania fue más conveniente usar el español), y solo he perdido una cosa: el biscotti (con naranja, canela y cardamomo, no me di cuento de que esas ingredientes serían problemáticas) que había hecho para la familia. Hoy caminábamos por una ruta a lado de la mar Mediterráneo  . . . un pedacito de lo que había (y había mucho a ver), de lo qué recuerdo lo más (horita): la manera en que el viento corría por la mar, bailaba por la mar, contra las corrientes y olas (¡y que pequeñas fueron las olas!). Y un momentito de Valencia (donde me quedo con una familia bien amable de cuatro): la noche antes del día de los reyes Lara hablaba y hablaba aunque su madre la había dicho que fue la hora para acostarse pero Elsa (la hija menor), cuando su mamá mandó que se prepara para dormir respondió con cara de un angelito «Vale» y dobló a su hermana y dijo «Lara, ¿me acompañarías?» y las dos se fueron. Tal vez la razón que me hizo sonreír fue la amistad de las hermanas o la sinceridad de Elsa, no sé, podría ser, simplemente, que el verbo acompañar me parece formal (y vino de la boca de una niña muy joven y pequeñita) . . . De lo que he visto de España: hay un “hunk of meat” en cada cocina que he visto de que he oído. Jamón serrano. Sí, mis amigos, lo como, pero hay que saber, después de un semestre sin comer carne y después de evitar por unos años la carne afuera de pollo y pescado, es un poco raro ver carne y comer carne cada día así. Pero, vale, la comida ha sido riquísimo.

 [That meat is jamón serrano, and although I did not eat meat almost all last semester-two days exception of turkey and chicken, I do eat it here. It was suprising to me to see so much meat at once in every kitchen. Next time I'll have a picture of what I ate yesterday which is more appetizing to look at :)]

¡Saludos de Dénia!

Para mis anglohablantes . . . I’m here and alive! From San Francisco to Frankfurt, from Frankfurt to Madrid, Madrid to Valencia, the only thing I lost was the biscotti (with orange zest, cardamum, and cinnamon . . . I didn’t realize that was dangerous enough to be removed from my checked baggage) I had made for my host family.

In Valencia I spent the night with a family (many thanks to the family and my sister) with two adorable little girls. It was the night before el día de los reyes, which is similar to Christmas. “Los reyes” are the three magi, and they come and leave presents for the children who have behaved, so the girls where quite excited that night and the next morning they were all smiles. Ana made me a cup of coffee . . . and tell you what . . . coffee here is a whole . . . “nother” I just re-realized, is not a word, it is sloppy English, instead of another story, a whole nother story . . . do I speak this language? . . . anyway, coffee here is superb. Ana y Juan drink it watered down a little . . . coffee is espresso. So what they drink is what one would order as an americano at a café in the U.S. Except with less water and darn good espresso. Mmmm.

First impressions of Dénia now: wow. Between Valencia and Dénia one can see how parts of Spain and California resemble each other . . . and there are oranges everywhere. Brilliant orange oranges. Delicious oranges. Natural, freshly squeezed orange juice every morning. Two oranges in one glass. 

'Tis Later

I said pictures later, so here we go. I went out to capture bits and pieces of what I love on camera, failed miserably, but who can capture the essence of a moment in words or on camera?


The colors were magnificent as the sun melted into a soft neon pink: melting baker's chocolate in butter as the colors spread across the ocean, rippling and running up the sand. It moved with a swift calmness and grace, not lingering with the applause as it begged for an encore, no matter the waves of standing ovations, but bowing out in humble radiance.

Pictures Later

Today . . . today, today, today. This week. Hmm.

First ah-ha moment. Moreover, first, I-told-you-so moment. I went with a friend out for coffee and conversation. We headed out to Westside Coffee, which led us to West Cliff Drive, where we found a bench and sat and chatted and oohed and ahhed over the ocean and the sky. The sky was filled with varying clouds, cracking open occassionally to stream light down onto a silvery, choppy ocean that would glow golden with the peaking sun. The rain from which we received respite that day had lit the cliff tops and slopes electric shades of green and cleaned the air--we could see the towers at Moss Landing and the hills rising up behind Salinas and Castroville. We interrupted ourselves and eachother with oohs and moments of necessary basking and blathering as the sun broke through over our bench and commentaries on the beauty and oh look! a dolphin! and we ran further out onto the cliff to stand and point and become ever so much more excited each time the dolphin or its playmates resurfaced. Driving away from West Cliff, there ahead rose the Santa Cruz mountains, dripping, absolutely dripping with deep green trees. Not slopes, not inclines, but mountains. Not Shasta or the Sierra Nevada Range, but mountains. And then descending into the valley, down Graham Hill Road, with trees leaning, light streaming, a road cut in between descending hills . . . I was not wrong to feel helpless in attempting to convey a piece of this to my classmates in CAS 101, it is not comparable to anything anywhere I have ever seen, I was not idealizing it, painting it rosy in my mind to stab my heart. No. It is that beautiful, indescribable, irreplaceable.

Second ah-ha. The sky. Today was an all day in San Jose day. San Joe-zee. (I'm kidding if you, reader deary, don't speak Spanish or are not native to this area--'tis San Ho-say.) And a long while at the car dealership, where I plopped down on a strip of grass, layed on my back, and stared at the sky. Wow. Yup, wow.

It is not that the sky is a place of infrequent visual perusal, but rather that its importance just registered. It was so still. It was blue and puffed with clouds but still. Later, it acquired cloud streaks of a drying brush and feathered clouds and soon a river of watermarked clouds flowed through the center of my field of vision, behind the original sedentary clouds. The sky is like the ocean. It is always there, but it is always different. It is changeable, unreliable in form, but reliable in existance. It would be heart breaking, it is heart breaking, to see it polluted and unhealthy. And I rely on its existance. The sky does not replace the ocean for me; the ocean has branded a lodging for itself upon my heart where only it will ever fit. So I live with its absence in Grand Rapids. But in Grand Rapids, the sky took hold in a way it never had. Here the sky is big. Here it can blend with the ocean, expand into the ocean, be sawed by trees or mountains. Here it is dark at night, lit by its own stars. In Grand Rapids the stars are not so available, but the sky moves. The clouds are more and more variable. The sunrises and sunsets have a dynamism unlike those here--for while they set along flat horizons and softer, rounder, smaller trees, they set with an expansiveness that shrinks one down to the reality of one's smallness the way the ocean can. They set in a dancing, painted sky of immense proportions. The sky, the sky is necessary.

Third ah-ha. Driving back from San Jose, over 17 by myself in the van. KRTY playing, as I swung up and down the curves through the mountains, George Strait's "I Saw God Today." Maybe it is a cheesy song. Maybe I am "cute-sy" as a roommate stated this semester.
"Just walked down the street to the coffee shop, I had to take a break, I'd been by her side for 18 hours straight. Saw a flower growing in the middle of the side walk, pushing up through the concrete, like it was planted right there for me to see. The flashing lights, the honking horns all seemed to fade away, in the shadow of that hospital, at 5:08, I saw God today. I've been to Church, I've read the book, I know he's here but I don't look near as often as I should. His fingerprints are everywhere, I just slowed down to stop and stare, opened my eyes and man I swear, I saw God today."
I haven't read the book, I won't comment any further on my unorthodox status of haves and have not's and do's and do not's, but I will say this much: those moments of finding a flower in the sidewalk are the most overwhelming moments of ah-ha. How else would the sky be noted in San Jose and Grand Rapids and be found to be so compelling?

The Beauty of Brine

Oh beautiful day in Californ-i-a!!! Yes it was hot! hot! hot! as in 107º in the valley and more or less the same in various locales throughout the county, but it is summer! And gimpy here, has a selfish post to share why it is more beautiful than the average roasting day . . .

I went swimming in the ocean! Yes, Twin Lakes Beach, right next to the harbor. I crutched out the wheel chair path from Crow’s Nest, and then crutched through the sand to the water where I plopped down on a rock and fought less than gracefully against my wetsuit (but I did win) and with the help of my dad, crutched into the ocean, dropped between waves, crawled, and swam like hell out of the surf zone and into the swells. Kicking is still a no-no, so I fought the urge to tread or throw in the occasional breast stroke while redirecting toward the buoy and swam to buoy one, then two, and almost three. 

I know, I know, “almost” sounds pathetic, and not far from there was my preferred goal, the cliff, but this is where things got exciting. Between buoy two and three something smooth and grey came into view between myself and my destination, which was still off a ways. Seal, right? That is my first instinct too but mamacita here is always up on the latest gossip (not really), such as a shark citing in Monterey Bay?! What? The goggles went up and floated, waiting for a second glimpse of grey sea critter. Finally, a seal came up, far enough away that I could sigh . . . and see a fin! One fin, two fins, three, four—oh my goodness, look at all these dolphins! No sharkies playing around here, no sir-e. Amazing. I was swimming with dolphins, in Monterey Bay. The only reason I turned around was Mr. Seal—seals are huge, and have teeth; three yards was a little too close for comfort. But it was perfect. Sea weed, dolphins, seals, salty water, my favorite view of the harbor lighthouse, even a smooth return to land via body surfing; I could not have wished for more. How is it that the ocean never ceases to give and yet, never looses itself?