Hey all, just got back from Paris! It was fantastic. More to come on that...once I get all my work done...I'm actually prioritizing for once!
Just wanted to thank all of you who've been praying for the safety of my friends and me.
I also implore you to keep the Pope in your prayers this week as he travels to Angola and Cameroon to pray with and encourage the ever-growing Church in Africa. Let us not only pray for his safety but also that those who are committing countless atrocities in the African continent will be touched by his visit and cease their evil ways.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, Protectress of Africa - Pray for us!
Monday, March 16, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Note
I was playing with the layout (obviously) the other day, and had to settle with what is there. I don't like it either haha. I'll change it or revert it soon enough, for now I want to go to sleep.
~ Javs
~ Javs
Satisfied by a Mere Experience
As unlikely as this sounds, our weekend trip to the Andalusian cities of Córdoba and Granada was start to finish a complete success. I think one person delayed our initial bus out of Toledo a handful of minutes, but that’s about the only slipup I remember. The several hour bus ride to Córdoba was fantastic. We had to board by 5:15 in the morning, but sin duda valió la pena (was certainly worth it). I slept a good bit, but was gladly awoken by an aesthetically minded angel who prompted me to remove the scarf which shielded my eyes from the quiet, yet intense beauty of the sunrise climbing its way over the plains to my left.
After satisfying my desire to behold and trying somewhat in vain to capture with a lens what was meant for an eye, I slipped back into dreams. We were awoken at roadside bed and breakfast for a buffet-style breakfast…my favorite kind. I ate with José Luis and Miguel, two of our three program coordinators. They are both really funny guys, and used this sense of humor to comment several times on my ability to consume food and our common upbringings in the Catholic Church. We are very lucky to have them (and Yuki, the hypotenuse c to their a and b) as our coordinators. I have had both amusing and serious conversations with them, and find myself each time happier or wiser.
After breakfast(/lunch/dinner if you consider how much I ate) we continued through an incredible landscape of undulating pine forest to get to Córdoba. Unfortunately it was a bit misty when we arrived, but not enough to mar the several hours we had to see the Mezquita and explore the Judería…and eat! The Mezquita is fantastic. It’s a sixth century Church turned eighth (?) century Mosque turned fifteenth century Cathedral. There is no trace of the original Church, but thanks be to God, the Christian armies of the reconquista didn’t destroy their Muslim enemy’s beautiful place of prayer, rather adapted it to their liturgical needs. I wish we could have spent more time there, but as that was the only major thing we had planned for Córdoba, they really wanted us to see the Judería, or Jewish quarter, then eat and peace out. The highlight of the Jewish quarter was definitely the Maimonides statue. Maimonides was a Medieval Jewish philosopher from Córdoba, whose influence extended beyond his own faith, as his work is cited by St. Thomas and some of the other famous scholastics. Córdoba is certainly a city of philosophers. They also boast of Seneca, the Roman stoic, and Ibn Rushd (Averroes), the Muslim genius referred to by St. Thomas as “The Commentator.” Only one other person in Thomas holds such an epithet, Aristotle “The Philosopher,” on whose works Ibn Rushd was/is the authoritative commentator.
Lunch was fantastic.
We arrived in Granada in the early evening and got ourselves settled before a fun little night. Instead of spending too much money at restaurants and bars, we decided a grocery store run would be our most cost efficient venture. We were right. It was a cheap, fun night, capped off by free dancing at a club called Babylon.
I thought I would regret staying out late on Friday, because we had a somewhat early wake up Saturday to see the Alhambra, a medieval Muslim fortress. I was wrong. Long seeded excitement got me up and rearing to go in the morning…along with yet another buffet-style breakfast awaiting us in our hotel’s dining room. Two ham, egg, and cheese sandwiches; a handful of peach slices; and some tasty fruit juices later we were seated on our busses and en route to the Alhambra.
No day could have complemented the beauty of this building more. The sun was kind enough to share 65 to 75 of its several-billion-degree temperature with us, making our sweaters a clumsy item to carry, but a welcome reminder that no…we are not in South Bend! Unfortunately abused her Spanish penchant for long windedness, and made certain parts of the four-hour tour quite boring, so much so that we were not allowed to remain in some of the prettier areas to sit, relax, and admire, and in the very end she forgot to take us to one of the Alhambra’s cooler patios. I wasn’t too upset though. We did spend four hours in the Alhambra.
A testimony to the power of the Muslim rulers of times past, it is a vast collection of human dexterity and imagination. Just about every wall has an ornately hand-carved design, ranging from the cave-like ceilings of the bedrooms to the fabulous Arabic scripts which contar las historias de la Alhambra much akin to a Medieval tapestry. Unfortunately one its most famous pieces, La fuente de los leones, is being renovated. It is a fountain in one of the main patios encircled by 12 lions, one for each our. In the fountain’s day, on each hour the respective lion would begin to spray water. The Christian conquerors opened it to see how it worked. Neither did they figure it out, nor did it work when they put it back together…smooth.
Among the Alhambra’s other claims to fame is that it was the burial place of Los Reyes Católicos: Isabel of Castilla-León y Fernando de Aragon. They were buried there because La Alhambra was the final Muslim stronghold conquered in 1492, although now they reside in the Capilla Real, a chapel on the side of the Cathedral of Granada.
After La Alhambra, we had the whole day free. We certainly took advantage. After getting Tapas and one heck of a refreshing beer (and a Gaston picture!) at La Bella y La Bestia, we got our own lunches of choice and met back at Plaza de Colón for lunch. Plaza de Colón is an amazing little spot to sit and admire the monument Queen Isabel’s approval of Colón’s proposal to sail west. The guys had pizza and did not regret it, as is evidenced by the pictures on the website…Hank especially.
The next of the day’s highlights awaited us after lunch. We didn’t want to spend €3.50 to enter the Cathedral, so instead we decided to explore the streets and allies around it. Choice of the century. Behind the Cathedral resides the quintessential European setting: a sunlit plaza with steps, musicians, and joy. The sun continued its gift of Mediterranean spring weather as we plopped on the steps to take in the seeming perfection of the moment. To our left three incredible flamenco musicians provide the soundtrack to the movie being ingrained in our memories as numerous groups of costumed Granada youth made their way in and out of the Plaza. Apparently there was a city-wide scavenger hunt that day, so humorously dressed people were in no shortage this happy Saturday.
On the steps our group partook in gelato consumption, laughter, and the a capella folk choir stylings of Flannery and I. If I’m not mistaken we sat there for at least two hours before entering the Capilla Real, which was nice, but not quite worth the €3.50 entrance, maybe 2. The tabernacle wasn’t even active!
As was the custom, we exited the Capilla to the sound of more fantastic music in the streets. We then split our group. Some went back to the hotel, while some of us decided to make the trek to El mirador de San Nicolas, the lookout spot from Saint Nicholas Parish. This also falls in that category of fantastic decisions. It was a long uphill trek to this famed sunset point and hippie congregation hub. A hedonist’s paradise, this lookout appeals to all the senses. It buzzes with life and moves to the music of flamenco guitar, didgeridoos, homemade percussion, and hippie chant. Numerous cafés take advantage of numerous pilgrims who seek not only to gaze on beauty but also to do so on a full stomach and satisfied palette. Primarily famous for its vista, San Nicolas has perfect view of the North side of the Alhambra and the Sierra Nevada mountains as the setting sun stains their brown stones and white caps red. Oh and smell, I forgot about the sense…well it’s the hippie center of Spain, so it smells like…incense…among other recognizable scents ;-)
Much like our Cathedral steps experience, we spent several hours there, profiting from the view during three different times day light, sunset, and nighttime. The Alhambra is very well lit at night, so that required our brains to make even more space to retain and impressive memory. If my brain works anything like my computer’s hard drive I’ll soon be sacrificing old memory in hopes of a newer—hopefully God designs better than Apple. However, our desire to explore was still piqued, so we took random streets in the hilltop neighborhood and stumbled upon a snazzy little plaza and friendly local grocer before making it back down to the main road which would lead us back to our hotel.
That night was Connor’s birthday, so we celebrated appropriately, laughing and dancing to our hearts’ content. My night was sadly cut short by a little taxi mix up, but that was alright, considering the much needed extra hour of sleep it afforded me. I got to go to Church twice, once at a local convent and later at the Cathedral. Both were beautiful liturgies, although lacking the vibrancy of a dorm or Basilica Mass I am so accustomed to (and eager to experience back in the States). The Cathedral is among the most beautiful in Spain, and probably in Europe. Structurally, it designed to encourage as much air flow and let in as much light as possible. It also does not fall prey to some of the excesses of Baroque Spain that other Cathedrals do, although it does utilize the Baroque mastery of gold very well. Sadly, I only took two pictures, but memory is always better, even if less accurate than a photograph.
That was probably the lesson of this trip. Although I am glad I (with Hank’s help) snapped 410 pictures in Córdoba and Granada alone, I do need to remember that the point of my travels is to behold and experience. I am living a story and learning lessons along the way. The photos will serve well in the future to stir a memory years removed from the experiences, but how sad would it be if to gaze upon the photos is all my mind is trained to do, if it does not have its own impression of the beautiful landscapes and architecture I’ve been setting eyes on for the past two months?
One of my favorite quotes encapsulates my situation well -- “No limit can be set to our progress toward God, first because no limits can be put upon the beautiful, and second, because as our desire increases it never finds satisfaction." - St. Gregory of Nyssa.
Every trace of beauty makes such an impression on my heart, I want to keep it forever, so I take a photograph, thinking that it is the pure aesthetic value which impresses me most. However, there is deeper magic at work, a beauty hidden deep within those mountains, a creativity housed somewhere in those walls, magnets which forcibly engage me in their mystery. However, they are paragons of humility, for in their attraction, they lead me past themselves to encounter a beauty truer, yet infinitely more paradoxical. Its enormity is ineffable, yet its simplicity comprehensible to the smallest child. I recall when I would be an Extraordinary Minister of Communion at the Children’s Masses at Little Flower Parish in South Bend. Holding the chalice I was stunned by the opportunity to hand Life itself to my brothers and sisters and would get locked in thought and fear. Then, when I needed it most, a parent would come up holding their infant child. Without fail these beautiful youths would fix their gaze on the chalice. Perhaps it is only because chalices are shiny, and little kids love shiny things, but I could never help but wonder that they knew what was really going on. They knew that Love was poured into that cup, and they couldn’t take their eyes off of Him. His beauty drew them into Himself, even though they did not receive Him sacramentally. Saved from the trap of intellectualism, these children helped me to better understand the mystery of my ministry: to keep my gaze fixed on the beauty swirling around below me, whether it impressed me or not.
This translates well into my travel life. The vibrant life about me asks me to perceive it better, to not divorce its aesthetic from its identity. No one wants to be reduced to an image, to a lifeless object, not even the most mundane pebble. That is why the photograph can never replace the impression of memory. Devoid of the reality of its object, it cannot draw me in such a way to the greatest Reality, it cannot remind me of my own reality, my own beauty, my own need to plunge deep into my own depths and discover a mystery and identity too immense for these pages, yet contained perfectly in a morsel of Bread and drop of Wine.
After satisfying my desire to behold and trying somewhat in vain to capture with a lens what was meant for an eye, I slipped back into dreams. We were awoken at roadside bed and breakfast for a buffet-style breakfast…my favorite kind. I ate with José Luis and Miguel, two of our three program coordinators. They are both really funny guys, and used this sense of humor to comment several times on my ability to consume food and our common upbringings in the Catholic Church. We are very lucky to have them (and Yuki, the hypotenuse c to their a and b) as our coordinators. I have had both amusing and serious conversations with them, and find myself each time happier or wiser.
After breakfast(/lunch/dinner if you consider how much I ate) we continued through an incredible landscape of undulating pine forest to get to Córdoba. Unfortunately it was a bit misty when we arrived, but not enough to mar the several hours we had to see the Mezquita and explore the Judería…and eat! The Mezquita is fantastic. It’s a sixth century Church turned eighth (?) century Mosque turned fifteenth century Cathedral. There is no trace of the original Church, but thanks be to God, the Christian armies of the reconquista didn’t destroy their Muslim enemy’s beautiful place of prayer, rather adapted it to their liturgical needs. I wish we could have spent more time there, but as that was the only major thing we had planned for Córdoba, they really wanted us to see the Judería, or Jewish quarter, then eat and peace out. The highlight of the Jewish quarter was definitely the Maimonides statue. Maimonides was a Medieval Jewish philosopher from Córdoba, whose influence extended beyond his own faith, as his work is cited by St. Thomas and some of the other famous scholastics. Córdoba is certainly a city of philosophers. They also boast of Seneca, the Roman stoic, and Ibn Rushd (Averroes), the Muslim genius referred to by St. Thomas as “The Commentator.” Only one other person in Thomas holds such an epithet, Aristotle “The Philosopher,” on whose works Ibn Rushd was/is the authoritative commentator.
Lunch was fantastic.
We arrived in Granada in the early evening and got ourselves settled before a fun little night. Instead of spending too much money at restaurants and bars, we decided a grocery store run would be our most cost efficient venture. We were right. It was a cheap, fun night, capped off by free dancing at a club called Babylon.
I thought I would regret staying out late on Friday, because we had a somewhat early wake up Saturday to see the Alhambra, a medieval Muslim fortress. I was wrong. Long seeded excitement got me up and rearing to go in the morning…along with yet another buffet-style breakfast awaiting us in our hotel’s dining room. Two ham, egg, and cheese sandwiches; a handful of peach slices; and some tasty fruit juices later we were seated on our busses and en route to the Alhambra.
No day could have complemented the beauty of this building more. The sun was kind enough to share 65 to 75 of its several-billion-degree temperature with us, making our sweaters a clumsy item to carry, but a welcome reminder that no…we are not in South Bend! Unfortunately abused her Spanish penchant for long windedness, and made certain parts of the four-hour tour quite boring, so much so that we were not allowed to remain in some of the prettier areas to sit, relax, and admire, and in the very end she forgot to take us to one of the Alhambra’s cooler patios. I wasn’t too upset though. We did spend four hours in the Alhambra.
A testimony to the power of the Muslim rulers of times past, it is a vast collection of human dexterity and imagination. Just about every wall has an ornately hand-carved design, ranging from the cave-like ceilings of the bedrooms to the fabulous Arabic scripts which contar las historias de la Alhambra much akin to a Medieval tapestry. Unfortunately one its most famous pieces, La fuente de los leones, is being renovated. It is a fountain in one of the main patios encircled by 12 lions, one for each our. In the fountain’s day, on each hour the respective lion would begin to spray water. The Christian conquerors opened it to see how it worked. Neither did they figure it out, nor did it work when they put it back together…smooth.
Among the Alhambra’s other claims to fame is that it was the burial place of Los Reyes Católicos: Isabel of Castilla-León y Fernando de Aragon. They were buried there because La Alhambra was the final Muslim stronghold conquered in 1492, although now they reside in the Capilla Real, a chapel on the side of the Cathedral of Granada.
After La Alhambra, we had the whole day free. We certainly took advantage. After getting Tapas and one heck of a refreshing beer (and a Gaston picture!) at La Bella y La Bestia, we got our own lunches of choice and met back at Plaza de Colón for lunch. Plaza de Colón is an amazing little spot to sit and admire the monument Queen Isabel’s approval of Colón’s proposal to sail west. The guys had pizza and did not regret it, as is evidenced by the pictures on the website…Hank especially.
The next of the day’s highlights awaited us after lunch. We didn’t want to spend €3.50 to enter the Cathedral, so instead we decided to explore the streets and allies around it. Choice of the century. Behind the Cathedral resides the quintessential European setting: a sunlit plaza with steps, musicians, and joy. The sun continued its gift of Mediterranean spring weather as we plopped on the steps to take in the seeming perfection of the moment. To our left three incredible flamenco musicians provide the soundtrack to the movie being ingrained in our memories as numerous groups of costumed Granada youth made their way in and out of the Plaza. Apparently there was a city-wide scavenger hunt that day, so humorously dressed people were in no shortage this happy Saturday.
On the steps our group partook in gelato consumption, laughter, and the a capella folk choir stylings of Flannery and I. If I’m not mistaken we sat there for at least two hours before entering the Capilla Real, which was nice, but not quite worth the €3.50 entrance, maybe 2. The tabernacle wasn’t even active!
As was the custom, we exited the Capilla to the sound of more fantastic music in the streets. We then split our group. Some went back to the hotel, while some of us decided to make the trek to El mirador de San Nicolas, the lookout spot from Saint Nicholas Parish. This also falls in that category of fantastic decisions. It was a long uphill trek to this famed sunset point and hippie congregation hub. A hedonist’s paradise, this lookout appeals to all the senses. It buzzes with life and moves to the music of flamenco guitar, didgeridoos, homemade percussion, and hippie chant. Numerous cafés take advantage of numerous pilgrims who seek not only to gaze on beauty but also to do so on a full stomach and satisfied palette. Primarily famous for its vista, San Nicolas has perfect view of the North side of the Alhambra and the Sierra Nevada mountains as the setting sun stains their brown stones and white caps red. Oh and smell, I forgot about the sense…well it’s the hippie center of Spain, so it smells like…incense…among other recognizable scents ;-)
Much like our Cathedral steps experience, we spent several hours there, profiting from the view during three different times day light, sunset, and nighttime. The Alhambra is very well lit at night, so that required our brains to make even more space to retain and impressive memory. If my brain works anything like my computer’s hard drive I’ll soon be sacrificing old memory in hopes of a newer—hopefully God designs better than Apple. However, our desire to explore was still piqued, so we took random streets in the hilltop neighborhood and stumbled upon a snazzy little plaza and friendly local grocer before making it back down to the main road which would lead us back to our hotel.
That night was Connor’s birthday, so we celebrated appropriately, laughing and dancing to our hearts’ content. My night was sadly cut short by a little taxi mix up, but that was alright, considering the much needed extra hour of sleep it afforded me. I got to go to Church twice, once at a local convent and later at the Cathedral. Both were beautiful liturgies, although lacking the vibrancy of a dorm or Basilica Mass I am so accustomed to (and eager to experience back in the States). The Cathedral is among the most beautiful in Spain, and probably in Europe. Structurally, it designed to encourage as much air flow and let in as much light as possible. It also does not fall prey to some of the excesses of Baroque Spain that other Cathedrals do, although it does utilize the Baroque mastery of gold very well. Sadly, I only took two pictures, but memory is always better, even if less accurate than a photograph.
That was probably the lesson of this trip. Although I am glad I (with Hank’s help) snapped 410 pictures in Córdoba and Granada alone, I do need to remember that the point of my travels is to behold and experience. I am living a story and learning lessons along the way. The photos will serve well in the future to stir a memory years removed from the experiences, but how sad would it be if to gaze upon the photos is all my mind is trained to do, if it does not have its own impression of the beautiful landscapes and architecture I’ve been setting eyes on for the past two months?
One of my favorite quotes encapsulates my situation well -- “No limit can be set to our progress toward God, first because no limits can be put upon the beautiful, and second, because as our desire increases it never finds satisfaction." - St. Gregory of Nyssa.
Every trace of beauty makes such an impression on my heart, I want to keep it forever, so I take a photograph, thinking that it is the pure aesthetic value which impresses me most. However, there is deeper magic at work, a beauty hidden deep within those mountains, a creativity housed somewhere in those walls, magnets which forcibly engage me in their mystery. However, they are paragons of humility, for in their attraction, they lead me past themselves to encounter a beauty truer, yet infinitely more paradoxical. Its enormity is ineffable, yet its simplicity comprehensible to the smallest child. I recall when I would be an Extraordinary Minister of Communion at the Children’s Masses at Little Flower Parish in South Bend. Holding the chalice I was stunned by the opportunity to hand Life itself to my brothers and sisters and would get locked in thought and fear. Then, when I needed it most, a parent would come up holding their infant child. Without fail these beautiful youths would fix their gaze on the chalice. Perhaps it is only because chalices are shiny, and little kids love shiny things, but I could never help but wonder that they knew what was really going on. They knew that Love was poured into that cup, and they couldn’t take their eyes off of Him. His beauty drew them into Himself, even though they did not receive Him sacramentally. Saved from the trap of intellectualism, these children helped me to better understand the mystery of my ministry: to keep my gaze fixed on the beauty swirling around below me, whether it impressed me or not.
This translates well into my travel life. The vibrant life about me asks me to perceive it better, to not divorce its aesthetic from its identity. No one wants to be reduced to an image, to a lifeless object, not even the most mundane pebble. That is why the photograph can never replace the impression of memory. Devoid of the reality of its object, it cannot draw me in such a way to the greatest Reality, it cannot remind me of my own reality, my own beauty, my own need to plunge deep into my own depths and discover a mystery and identity too immense for these pages, yet contained perfectly in a morsel of Bread and drop of Wine.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Guilty Pleasure
So in one of my numerous study breaks I found this: THE ONION YOUTUBE CHANNEL
Oy, talk about a guilty pleasure. These people are really quite bitter and sarcastic...but very, very funny. If you enjoy a good dead pan you will love this.
Oy, talk about a guilty pleasure. These people are really quite bitter and sarcastic...but very, very funny. If you enjoy a good dead pan you will love this.
Something New I Learned
There are 42 Catholic Churches within a 15 mile radius of my home...hiyo! Although at school there are 40+ chapels on two square miles, so I suppose I should be used to this kind of thing by now. (Somebody's keeping His eye on me!)
On a similar note, excluding preschool...I've only been to schools dedicated to the Blessed Mother...make that two people keeping their eyes on me!
On a similar note, excluding preschool...I've only been to schools dedicated to the Blessed Mother...make that two people keeping their eyes on me!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Morocco Fotos
Papa Benedetto sums up my Moroccan experience pretty well (Thanks to Emily for showing me the particular speech): I am "wounded by the desire for beauty, and not any kind of beauty, but...beauty itself, the infinite beauty that [I] found in Christ."
To access these and subsequent photos check out my Picasa site.
Picasa is decentish program, so needless to say I decided to have a lot of fun with and touched up some of the pictures. I only put in the ones (somewhat) worth looking at.
Enjoy (Mom and Dad)!
To access these and subsequent photos check out my Picasa site.
Picasa is decentish program, so needless to say I decided to have a lot of fun with and touched up some of the pictures. I only put in the ones (somewhat) worth looking at.
Enjoy (Mom and Dad)!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Somethings I Realized a Long Time Ago
1) I can't sing long e's. I'm not sure why, but I can never seem to get them right. This is ironic because back in Beauty and the Beast my big number "Me" ended with a powerful High-F Meeeeeeeeeeee! Yea, I don't think the audience ever enjoyed that one. Sorry.
2) I am bad at conjuring motivation to do school work, hence this blog post.
3) Jesus Christ is fantastic...although in the strictest sense of the word, I don't think anyone could have ever fantasized a God Incarnate who would die, rise, ascend, and leave Himself in the form of Bread and Wine...I couldn't. My God would be me...oh wait that sounds like secular humanism...not so creative, I guess ;-)
4) I don't know if I could be poor and happy...sounds awful I know, but it's the truth...at this point at least. Maybe I'll be a better person one day.
5) Tissues should be carried at all times.
6) Music should be played on streets and sidewalks enlarged so folk can dance more readily.
7) The greatest saints are the ones we don't know about...excluding Mama Mary of course.
8) I will see you in the Eucharist, whether you believe me or not :-)
2) I am bad at conjuring motivation to do school work, hence this blog post.
3) Jesus Christ is fantastic...although in the strictest sense of the word, I don't think anyone could have ever fantasized a God Incarnate who would die, rise, ascend, and leave Himself in the form of Bread and Wine...I couldn't. My God would be me...oh wait that sounds like secular humanism...not so creative, I guess ;-)
4) I don't know if I could be poor and happy...sounds awful I know, but it's the truth...at this point at least. Maybe I'll be a better person one day.
5) Tissues should be carried at all times.
6) Music should be played on streets and sidewalks enlarged so folk can dance more readily.
7) The greatest saints are the ones we don't know about...excluding Mama Mary of course.
8) I will see you in the Eucharist, whether you believe me or not :-)
Phew!
I just received an email from Prof. Fagerberg, the Director of Undergraduate Studies for the Dept. of Theology. He said my application was received safely and would be getting back to me when all the decisions had been made. Worry one is out of the way, and the greater worry, that my application is actually accepted, will be settled in about a month. I won't worry about it now though. There's too much else to do, plan, and experience.
Praise God! Why? Who cares?!?!
Praise God! Why? Who cares?!?!
Prayer Request
I just submitted my application for the Honors Theology Program, which if accepted would mean I get to write a thesis (30-50 pages!) on a topic of my choice. The topic I submitted was Christian Males: Soldiers for Christ and Spiritual Brides. Pray that all goes according to God's will.
Also, of note...I sent it in a day late, so if it's going to be accepted it may need an extra prayer or two. Many thanks.
There are more important things to pray for though, so I don't mind if you ask someone else what they need you to pray for. Who knows what serious intentions are being kept from the ear of the Lord this day? Let us pray that God gives us the grace and the courage to eagerly hear the needs of our brothers and sisters so that we can both pray for and aid with their fulfillment.
Notre Dame, Our Mother - Pray for us.
Also, of note...I sent it in a day late, so if it's going to be accepted it may need an extra prayer or two. Many thanks.
There are more important things to pray for though, so I don't mind if you ask someone else what they need you to pray for. Who knows what serious intentions are being kept from the ear of the Lord this day? Let us pray that God gives us the grace and the courage to eagerly hear the needs of our brothers and sisters so that we can both pray for and aid with their fulfillment.
Notre Dame, Our Mother - Pray for us.
News on Blessed Brother André
Check out this blurb from Fr. Michael Wurtz, CSC, a really cool, young Holy Cross Priest.
Any good news for The Congregation of Holy Cross is good news for Notre Dame. Blessed be God in His angels and His Saints!
Blessed Brother André, pray for us!
Any good news for The Congregation of Holy Cross is good news for Notre Dame. Blessed be God in His angels and His Saints!
Blessed Brother André, pray for us!
Monday, March 2, 2009
Two Rocked Casbahs and a Khamel that Doesn’t Spit -
[Note: Pictures to come soon!]
This weekend’s adventure took us to Marrakech, Morocco. Of all the journeys I’ve ever taken, planned, or even considered in the imaginative corner of my mind, this was preceded by the most apprehension and excitement. Going in only with the knowledge imparted to me by Maeve, Emily, and our nervous student coordinators at the Fund, I was ready only for a stereotype: camels and turbans. What I would findand how I would be received, however, both surprised and delighted me.
When we arrived the Hostel Manager, Khamel, was waiting to pick us up. He was wonderfully friendly and from the get-go led us on the first of our adventures. Our cars drove us from the airport into the chaotic and car-unfriendly Medina (the area inside the walls) of Marrakech. Much like driving within the walls of Toledo, no ride is conceivable without near accidents, heightened acuity of one’s surroundings, and general sense of surprise when you arrive at your destination unscathed. We parked in Jemaa El Fna, Marrakech’s main square, whose very atmosphere conjured treasured memories of Aladin and Abu. Snake charmers, monkey trainers, and story-tellers were awed at from afar as fruit vendors and shop owners sought to charm my friends into their stores, calling them “Beautiful Girl” and “Princess,” a far cry more gallant than the epithets used by their Spanish correspondents.
Getting to the hostel itself, or more accurately the Riad, a 15th Century home turned Bed and Breakfast, was quite unnerving the first time around. First you a walk away several hundred meters from Jemaa El Fna, through alternating areas of covered and uncovered marketplace, then turn down a street rife with impatient motorcyclists until you find an archway. At the archway we turned into a labyrinth of alleyways, unlit tunnels, and turns we thought impossible to remember. It was pretty sketch to the recently arrived eye. Everything seemed somewhat run down and ill kept; second thoughts plagued all. However, those were dashed as soon as Khamel opened the door to our weekend home. The light of the sun shone into the open-air patio crowned in the center by stone water pot and some beautiful plant life.
The real joy of the Riad, however, was infused by Khamel and his boss, Hassan. As soon as we got in, they didn’t ask for our money or personal information: they asked us to drop our things, sit down, and enjoy a cup of traditional Berber Tea with them. We were apprehensive at first because everyone says not to drink the water in Morocco, but we realized that this water would have been boiled first, so we took our chances. It was a great decision. The tea, whose dominant flavor is mint, was fantastic! They proceeded to give us all the practical information we needed for the weekend, from beautiful sights to haggling strategies, and most of all to acquaint ourselves with all the “mysteries” nestled within the walls of Marrakech. Mystery being my favorite word in the English language, I knew this would be a wonderful adventure.
After settling, Khamel showed us back to Jemaa El Fna so we could find our way later. Once there we were free to eat, shop, and observe per our fancy. Our first visit was to one of the city’s old palaces. Inside, the orange trees, flowers, courtyards, and Arabic craftsmanship awed us and provided ample photographic material. Afterwards, we ate a late lunch on a terrace overlooking the frenzy below us. The highlight of this experience was hearing the afternoon call to prayer cried out from speakers all over the city. A large group gathered in the middle of the square to praise Allah and renew their commitment of faith. It was quite powerful to see prayer in such a public forum and with such public support.
Unfortunately, my couscous was quite dry and expensive, but seeing as the rest of my meals would be delicious that was ok. More to come on the food when we get there. After lunch I decided to take a picture with a monkey. Taking Hassan’s advice, I said from the get go that I would only pay 5 dirham (Moroccan currency: 1 Euro = 11 dirham). The trainer agreed and before you knew it I had a monkey on my arm. The monkey was clearly a grandmother, because only several seconds into our photo session she was pinching my cheeks. You’d be surprised how strong monkey’s hands are. As I am no Maureen Penders, i.e. an absolute animal lover, this was quite a new experience for me, and altogether joyous one.
Our exploration of the square was soon cut short by ominous drops of rain. Although I’m sure many in the city weren’t privileged by Mother Nature as much as we, she waited until we got inside to unleash her storm—and what a storm it was. Granizos (Hail!) soon made their parachute-less free fall from high above onto the Marrakechi streets. Combined with the lightning that accompanied them, the air temperature plummeted just as quickly as the thimble-sized hail. Thankful we came in when we did, many of our group took the opportunity to nap or at least put on an extra layer.
When we finally went out for dinner, we could hardly have known what to expect back in Jemma El Fna. Armed with some advice from a friendly, middle-aged Brit staying the hostel, we entered the marketplace turned restaurant stand looking for a booth not where tourists were eating, but locals. As you walk through the rows of dinner tents, courtiers from all sides vie for your business. Among the best lines we heard was, “It’s not KFC, but it’s a-finger lickin’ good!” Eventually we decided on Tent #97, and never looked back. For seven people our meal cost 235 DH, about $3.85 per person. For me this meal consisted of delicious bread, traditional Berber soup, and Chicken Tajine, a local favorite…also a good portion of Emily’s lamb skewers which she couldn’t finish…I love having no shame! Aside from the fantastic price and incredible taste the coolest part of the meal was something Maeve pointed out. St. Augustine was a Berber! Oh, Berbers are the indigenous Moroccan population, if I haven’t already mentioned that. So yea, I was probably eating a meal consumed by the great Latin Doctor before inspiring his community with a stirring sermon or composing a prayerful defense of the Faith.
After dinner, we made our first entrance into the markets. There there are no prices, items are only as cheap as you can haggle them. I apparently have a knack for this. Since we would be heading to the mountains the next day, I wanted one of those authentic Berber sweaters to keep warm. The first guy I went to I got down pretty far, but I didn’t quite like the jacket so I kept that price in my head to use at another store. When I found one that fit well and I liked I dug deep into my long lost acting skills, to gradually let down the price. Choosing to speak in Spanish, the salesman and I went at it for quite sometime before his 450 DH sweater was 200, just 20 above the other, which was of a worse material, so I didn’t mind the extra 20. Among my best tactics, which I encourage you to utilize: when they go down by just a few, call them out and say well what’s another 20 or 30 DH; walk out at least once; patience is key, at one point I offered him some of my water because I could see he was flustered; and put them on the spot in front of their coworkers, I used the guy’s boss to get my final drop from 240 to 200. Cha-ching. When I went shopping with Maeve the next night, we went back to their store, and had a good laugh with each other about the night before, but that didn’t stop me from getting him to drop her price from 250 to 200. She didn’t end up buying from him, but it helped her at another store. So yes, haggling is great, especially in other languages.
Day two was a wholly different experience. Two drivers picked us up at seven in the morning, ready to lead us through an unforgettable immersion into the heart of Morocco. Our driver told us, “If you can drive in Morocco, you can drive anywhere,” he was right. Our plan was to drive through the Atlas Mountains and visit two Casbahs, or Arabic strongholds, one from the 11th century and the other from the 17th. The drive was magnificent. We stopped every now and then at picturesque spots to soak in the beauty and sacar photos for those times when our memory can’t quite conjure the immensity of what the senses once observed. The greatest part of this 12+ hour excursion was its erasure of my Moroccan preconceptions. As I said before, I thought Morocco was just camels and turbans, to speak somewhat flippantly. However, like the first real conversation you have with a friend, where their story speaks to you and their heart unveils itself, Morocco showed itself to us a country of rich legends and varied landscapes. To be honest, I only think I saw three camels and zero turbans. I can’t even begin to describe what I saw. Hill country, lush valleys, snowcapped mountains, and arid desert were among the different terrains we encountered in this small sampling of one country’s beauty.
Among the “drive time” highlights were: stopping in the mountains, getting over my carsickness, stopping to photograph a random herd of sheep we found crossing the “road” aka tire tracks through the desert that led to the first Casbah, and of course, the two Casbahs. The mountains, as per usual, were quite cold. Thankfully, at one picture stop we were able to get a cup of tea and warm up. I felt really Berber in my sweater drinking tea in the mountains. However, as you will see in one of the pictures, the roads were incredibly windy; thus, I was approaching carsickness. Fortunately, one of our cars soon encountered some technical difficulties so we had to stop. We picked a nice little hotel/restaurant as our stopping point. Behind it lie tall hills, a dry river way, and small brook running parallel to its ailing older sibling. Here the soft breeze and gentle babbling of the brook returned us to equilibrium as the hard science of banging rocks on an engine was applied to fix our vehicle…no pasa nada.
Continuing on, we crossed the aforementioned “road” to get to the first Casbah. On the way, we encountered a large herd of sheep minding their own business in our desired path of travel. This being a foreign sight to us and mildly humorous, bajamos (we got out) and took some photos. I never got quite the shot I wanted, but nevertheless a great experience. The most profound moment of this encounter though occurred when their shepherd appeared, somewhat out of nowhere, and whistled to them. In an instant they began running to him. “When he has driven out all his own, he walks ahead of them, and the sheep follow him, because they recognize his voice. But they will not follow a stranger; they will run away from him, because they do not recognize the voice of strangers” (John 10: 3-4). If only I could respond to Christ’s call as such.
The first Casbah, Ait Ben Haddou (Ait, son of Haddou), is named after Marrakech’s first Pasha, or warlord. To get there is an experience in itself. After crossing the arid, desert road, you have to cross a small river on horseback or donkey. “Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey”—kind of an appropriate passage when your approaching a warlord’s stronghold (Zechariah 9:9). In this village, there were lots of cool rooms to go in and a breathtaking view. From the watchman’s outpost you could see for about 40 km in any direction. Also, besides being a really cool village and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Ait ben Haddou boasts a prominent film credit. In Gladiator, it was the site of the African combat arena where Maximus first earns fame as Spaniard.
Lunch was delicious. I got try another Berber specialty—their omelet! With the dominant flavor being tomato, it wasn’t anything crazy or off-putting, instead it was simply delicious.
When we completed the snaking and guardrail-less road to the second Casbah, the sun had drooped somewhat and what romantic sentiments the fortress would inspire were sure to be multiplied. At the request of our guide, a friendly man from the town brought out the most legitimate key I have ever seen. Nearly eight inches in length, and inch in diameter, and possessing the typical hole-at-one-side and two-teeth-at-the-other shape, this key was probably a replica of the original that opened the main door of the Casbah. Though the Casbah was a bit run down, history still vivified its walls. From the west-facing window of dining room there were breathtaking views of the almond trees and village below us.
As great a note to end our tour of Morocco as this was, it was also the most heart wrenching. As we were leaving this village we were hounded by the local children, eager for a taste of the bourgeois life whence we come. This was obvious when Emily shared her water and cookies with them. Sent into a frenzy by these gifts, they ravaged and horded instead of thanking and sharing. It was hard a sight to withstand without being overcome by emotion. It was evident though, that their lack of resources and education did not damper them from living joyously. While this certainly no reason to settle and be complacent in the battle against poverty, it is a reason for us to take a deep breath sometimes and realize that sainthood has no requisite social status. Poor, rich, or somewhere in between, all are called to don the same garment of spiritual bridehood that prepares us for union with Jesus in the Eucharist and in Heaven.
Sadly, Maeve, Melissa, and I had to catch an early flight out of Marrakech on Sunday, so that was the end of our adventure. However, it was quite a jam-packed 48 hours—two days exploring the mysteries of a land heretofore shrouded in them. However, as with all mystery, scratching the surface only exposes another set of mysteries to contemplate. The mystics all say this about God. The more we get to know him, the more we realize we know very little. In one of the most difficult times of my life, a good priest emphasized this point to help me through my struggle. God will always be a mystery to us and this is what we must love about Him. He always wants to keep searching, to keep listening for his voice as we find our way home.
This weekend’s adventure took us to Marrakech, Morocco. Of all the journeys I’ve ever taken, planned, or even considered in the imaginative corner of my mind, this was preceded by the most apprehension and excitement. Going in only with the knowledge imparted to me by Maeve, Emily, and our nervous student coordinators at the Fund, I was ready only for a stereotype: camels and turbans. What I would findand how I would be received, however, both surprised and delighted me.
When we arrived the Hostel Manager, Khamel, was waiting to pick us up. He was wonderfully friendly and from the get-go led us on the first of our adventures. Our cars drove us from the airport into the chaotic and car-unfriendly Medina (the area inside the walls) of Marrakech. Much like driving within the walls of Toledo, no ride is conceivable without near accidents, heightened acuity of one’s surroundings, and general sense of surprise when you arrive at your destination unscathed. We parked in Jemaa El Fna, Marrakech’s main square, whose very atmosphere conjured treasured memories of Aladin and Abu. Snake charmers, monkey trainers, and story-tellers were awed at from afar as fruit vendors and shop owners sought to charm my friends into their stores, calling them “Beautiful Girl” and “Princess,” a far cry more gallant than the epithets used by their Spanish correspondents.
Getting to the hostel itself, or more accurately the Riad, a 15th Century home turned Bed and Breakfast, was quite unnerving the first time around. First you a walk away several hundred meters from Jemaa El Fna, through alternating areas of covered and uncovered marketplace, then turn down a street rife with impatient motorcyclists until you find an archway. At the archway we turned into a labyrinth of alleyways, unlit tunnels, and turns we thought impossible to remember. It was pretty sketch to the recently arrived eye. Everything seemed somewhat run down and ill kept; second thoughts plagued all. However, those were dashed as soon as Khamel opened the door to our weekend home. The light of the sun shone into the open-air patio crowned in the center by stone water pot and some beautiful plant life.
The real joy of the Riad, however, was infused by Khamel and his boss, Hassan. As soon as we got in, they didn’t ask for our money or personal information: they asked us to drop our things, sit down, and enjoy a cup of traditional Berber Tea with them. We were apprehensive at first because everyone says not to drink the water in Morocco, but we realized that this water would have been boiled first, so we took our chances. It was a great decision. The tea, whose dominant flavor is mint, was fantastic! They proceeded to give us all the practical information we needed for the weekend, from beautiful sights to haggling strategies, and most of all to acquaint ourselves with all the “mysteries” nestled within the walls of Marrakech. Mystery being my favorite word in the English language, I knew this would be a wonderful adventure.
After settling, Khamel showed us back to Jemaa El Fna so we could find our way later. Once there we were free to eat, shop, and observe per our fancy. Our first visit was to one of the city’s old palaces. Inside, the orange trees, flowers, courtyards, and Arabic craftsmanship awed us and provided ample photographic material. Afterwards, we ate a late lunch on a terrace overlooking the frenzy below us. The highlight of this experience was hearing the afternoon call to prayer cried out from speakers all over the city. A large group gathered in the middle of the square to praise Allah and renew their commitment of faith. It was quite powerful to see prayer in such a public forum and with such public support.
Unfortunately, my couscous was quite dry and expensive, but seeing as the rest of my meals would be delicious that was ok. More to come on the food when we get there. After lunch I decided to take a picture with a monkey. Taking Hassan’s advice, I said from the get go that I would only pay 5 dirham (Moroccan currency: 1 Euro = 11 dirham). The trainer agreed and before you knew it I had a monkey on my arm. The monkey was clearly a grandmother, because only several seconds into our photo session she was pinching my cheeks. You’d be surprised how strong monkey’s hands are. As I am no Maureen Penders, i.e. an absolute animal lover, this was quite a new experience for me, and altogether joyous one.
Our exploration of the square was soon cut short by ominous drops of rain. Although I’m sure many in the city weren’t privileged by Mother Nature as much as we, she waited until we got inside to unleash her storm—and what a storm it was. Granizos (Hail!) soon made their parachute-less free fall from high above onto the Marrakechi streets. Combined with the lightning that accompanied them, the air temperature plummeted just as quickly as the thimble-sized hail. Thankful we came in when we did, many of our group took the opportunity to nap or at least put on an extra layer.
When we finally went out for dinner, we could hardly have known what to expect back in Jemma El Fna. Armed with some advice from a friendly, middle-aged Brit staying the hostel, we entered the marketplace turned restaurant stand looking for a booth not where tourists were eating, but locals. As you walk through the rows of dinner tents, courtiers from all sides vie for your business. Among the best lines we heard was, “It’s not KFC, but it’s a-finger lickin’ good!” Eventually we decided on Tent #97, and never looked back. For seven people our meal cost 235 DH, about $3.85 per person. For me this meal consisted of delicious bread, traditional Berber soup, and Chicken Tajine, a local favorite…also a good portion of Emily’s lamb skewers which she couldn’t finish…I love having no shame! Aside from the fantastic price and incredible taste the coolest part of the meal was something Maeve pointed out. St. Augustine was a Berber! Oh, Berbers are the indigenous Moroccan population, if I haven’t already mentioned that. So yea, I was probably eating a meal consumed by the great Latin Doctor before inspiring his community with a stirring sermon or composing a prayerful defense of the Faith.
After dinner, we made our first entrance into the markets. There there are no prices, items are only as cheap as you can haggle them. I apparently have a knack for this. Since we would be heading to the mountains the next day, I wanted one of those authentic Berber sweaters to keep warm. The first guy I went to I got down pretty far, but I didn’t quite like the jacket so I kept that price in my head to use at another store. When I found one that fit well and I liked I dug deep into my long lost acting skills, to gradually let down the price. Choosing to speak in Spanish, the salesman and I went at it for quite sometime before his 450 DH sweater was 200, just 20 above the other, which was of a worse material, so I didn’t mind the extra 20. Among my best tactics, which I encourage you to utilize: when they go down by just a few, call them out and say well what’s another 20 or 30 DH; walk out at least once; patience is key, at one point I offered him some of my water because I could see he was flustered; and put them on the spot in front of their coworkers, I used the guy’s boss to get my final drop from 240 to 200. Cha-ching. When I went shopping with Maeve the next night, we went back to their store, and had a good laugh with each other about the night before, but that didn’t stop me from getting him to drop her price from 250 to 200. She didn’t end up buying from him, but it helped her at another store. So yes, haggling is great, especially in other languages.
Day two was a wholly different experience. Two drivers picked us up at seven in the morning, ready to lead us through an unforgettable immersion into the heart of Morocco. Our driver told us, “If you can drive in Morocco, you can drive anywhere,” he was right. Our plan was to drive through the Atlas Mountains and visit two Casbahs, or Arabic strongholds, one from the 11th century and the other from the 17th. The drive was magnificent. We stopped every now and then at picturesque spots to soak in the beauty and sacar photos for those times when our memory can’t quite conjure the immensity of what the senses once observed. The greatest part of this 12+ hour excursion was its erasure of my Moroccan preconceptions. As I said before, I thought Morocco was just camels and turbans, to speak somewhat flippantly. However, like the first real conversation you have with a friend, where their story speaks to you and their heart unveils itself, Morocco showed itself to us a country of rich legends and varied landscapes. To be honest, I only think I saw three camels and zero turbans. I can’t even begin to describe what I saw. Hill country, lush valleys, snowcapped mountains, and arid desert were among the different terrains we encountered in this small sampling of one country’s beauty.
Among the “drive time” highlights were: stopping in the mountains, getting over my carsickness, stopping to photograph a random herd of sheep we found crossing the “road” aka tire tracks through the desert that led to the first Casbah, and of course, the two Casbahs. The mountains, as per usual, were quite cold. Thankfully, at one picture stop we were able to get a cup of tea and warm up. I felt really Berber in my sweater drinking tea in the mountains. However, as you will see in one of the pictures, the roads were incredibly windy; thus, I was approaching carsickness. Fortunately, one of our cars soon encountered some technical difficulties so we had to stop. We picked a nice little hotel/restaurant as our stopping point. Behind it lie tall hills, a dry river way, and small brook running parallel to its ailing older sibling. Here the soft breeze and gentle babbling of the brook returned us to equilibrium as the hard science of banging rocks on an engine was applied to fix our vehicle…no pasa nada.
Continuing on, we crossed the aforementioned “road” to get to the first Casbah. On the way, we encountered a large herd of sheep minding their own business in our desired path of travel. This being a foreign sight to us and mildly humorous, bajamos (we got out) and took some photos. I never got quite the shot I wanted, but nevertheless a great experience. The most profound moment of this encounter though occurred when their shepherd appeared, somewhat out of nowhere, and whistled to them. In an instant they began running to him. “When he has driven out all his own, he walks ahead of them, and the sheep follow him, because they recognize his voice. But they will not follow a stranger; they will run away from him, because they do not recognize the voice of strangers” (John 10: 3-4). If only I could respond to Christ’s call as such.
The first Casbah, Ait Ben Haddou (Ait, son of Haddou), is named after Marrakech’s first Pasha, or warlord. To get there is an experience in itself. After crossing the arid, desert road, you have to cross a small river on horseback or donkey. “Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey”—kind of an appropriate passage when your approaching a warlord’s stronghold (Zechariah 9:9). In this village, there were lots of cool rooms to go in and a breathtaking view. From the watchman’s outpost you could see for about 40 km in any direction. Also, besides being a really cool village and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Ait ben Haddou boasts a prominent film credit. In Gladiator, it was the site of the African combat arena where Maximus first earns fame as Spaniard.
Lunch was delicious. I got try another Berber specialty—their omelet! With the dominant flavor being tomato, it wasn’t anything crazy or off-putting, instead it was simply delicious.
When we completed the snaking and guardrail-less road to the second Casbah, the sun had drooped somewhat and what romantic sentiments the fortress would inspire were sure to be multiplied. At the request of our guide, a friendly man from the town brought out the most legitimate key I have ever seen. Nearly eight inches in length, and inch in diameter, and possessing the typical hole-at-one-side and two-teeth-at-the-other shape, this key was probably a replica of the original that opened the main door of the Casbah. Though the Casbah was a bit run down, history still vivified its walls. From the west-facing window of dining room there were breathtaking views of the almond trees and village below us.
As great a note to end our tour of Morocco as this was, it was also the most heart wrenching. As we were leaving this village we were hounded by the local children, eager for a taste of the bourgeois life whence we come. This was obvious when Emily shared her water and cookies with them. Sent into a frenzy by these gifts, they ravaged and horded instead of thanking and sharing. It was hard a sight to withstand without being overcome by emotion. It was evident though, that their lack of resources and education did not damper them from living joyously. While this certainly no reason to settle and be complacent in the battle against poverty, it is a reason for us to take a deep breath sometimes and realize that sainthood has no requisite social status. Poor, rich, or somewhere in between, all are called to don the same garment of spiritual bridehood that prepares us for union with Jesus in the Eucharist and in Heaven.
Sadly, Maeve, Melissa, and I had to catch an early flight out of Marrakech on Sunday, so that was the end of our adventure. However, it was quite a jam-packed 48 hours—two days exploring the mysteries of a land heretofore shrouded in them. However, as with all mystery, scratching the surface only exposes another set of mysteries to contemplate. The mystics all say this about God. The more we get to know him, the more we realize we know very little. In one of the most difficult times of my life, a good priest emphasized this point to help me through my struggle. God will always be a mystery to us and this is what we must love about Him. He always wants to keep searching, to keep listening for his voice as we find our way home.
New York's New Curveballer
From Whispers:
[Archbishop Tim Dolan], Asked if he will use St. Patrick's Cathedral as a bully pulpit to advocate Catholic views on national social issues - including opposition to abortion - the burly Irish-American cleric said firmly, "You can plan on it."
!!!
And the Church shall rise...
Oh he's gonna fit in reeeeeaaaal good...
Morocco post coming soon!
[Archbishop Tim Dolan], Asked if he will use St. Patrick's Cathedral as a bully pulpit to advocate Catholic views on national social issues - including opposition to abortion - the burly Irish-American cleric said firmly, "You can plan on it."
!!!
And the Church shall rise...
Oh he's gonna fit in reeeeeaaaal good...
Morocco post coming soon!
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Salamanca, Madrid, y ¡Carnaval!
Just a few highlights from the last two weekends, parts of which are censorable anyway ;-)
Salamanca!
Salamanca is my favorite city so far. I hope Brittany is reading this right now and steaming with jealousy. I won’t lie though and say I am quite jealous of my old friend, who was blessed enough to remain there for a whole semester. It’s quaint, not touristy, and sin duda (without a doubt!) a lively little college town. I’m pretty sure this one Spain’s first really nice weekends, so townsfolk were out in droves welcoming home the long lost sun after they reluctantly had a taste of South Bend permacloud life is like. At night the Plaza Mayor smiles with light, providing one of the most beautiful man-made and non-ecclesial sights I’ve yet seen.
To boot, our group was fantastic. We had a great little hostal two blocks from the Plaza. The girls may have had a bigger room, but the gentlemen certainly won the best room prize. We had a balcony which overlooked the street and if you turned just a wee bit, you would see this. Pretty sweet, eh?
The night life there was a ton of fun. Everywhere we wanted to go was in relative proximity, including Jacko’s, a bar dedicated to the King of Pop himself. It wasn’t as spectacular as we imagined, but they had a drink called the Thriller which was mighty tasty. Both nights we ended up Leonardo’s, as I found out later, a place often frequented by Brittany and her friends. It’s a popular late-night Bocadillo spot. The great news is that I had the best sandwich of the semester in this place! Rightly dubbed the Plaza Mayor, it had chicken, cheese and onions…or something like that…I don’t quite remember…because it was so long ago! Don’t judge me :-)
This crazy vasco couldn't help us find a churrería, but he sang the FC Barcelona Anthem with me...so we let it slide
The second day (St. Valentine’s!) we walked around the city and soaked in the beauty of the day and the architecture. At the Old University’s main door Pami found the famous frog, which supposedly means she has good luck or something. The best part of our day though was the time leading up to and during lunch. We crossed the Río Tormes over the Puente Romano, a beautiful Roman bridge, enjoying the simplicity and silliness of our company. In the spirit of San Valentin, Gabi and I took this fantastic shot on the bridge, much to the surprise of some old ladies…yea this Gringo’s got moves!
There is...a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and...a time to dance! - Ecclesiastes 3:4 (with a bit of poetic license)
Over the bridge we found a nice little grocer, who sold us all we needed for a fabulous picnic. Our handmade bocadillos didn’t top the ones from the previous night in a culinary respect, but they may have had the edge in the spontaneous community spirit which generated them. Our picnic spot was picturesque: right by the river, at the foot of a church, and surrounded by the most unique trees you’ll ever see. Some were the subject of artists, painted and decorated in all sorts of crazy ways, while the virgin ones that lined the river walkway had the form of hands clasping a glass of wine or brandy from beneath. On top of being an impressive sight, they were the perfect height for climbing--tough enough for a challenge, but quite doable. Pete and I took some cool shots from his camera, which he hasn’t put up on facebook yet, but thankfully I stole someone else’s photos.
They will see us waving from such great heights,
'Come down now,' they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away,
'Come down now,' but we'll stay...
Salamanca ended equally as well, with Pete and I firing up some cubanos in the Plaza Mayor on our last night, and a safe journey home to Toledo. Although we meant to catch a direct bus back to Madrid to catch the train to Toledo, we got an indirect. It was considerably longer…but so worth it. We trekked through the mid-afternoon countryside of Castilla-León, rife with cattle, hills, and awesome rock formations. That barbarian spark lit in me yet again, my eyes were fixed on this glorious landscape the whole trip. Praise God for such art, which can’t but seize our most romantic yearnings for a wild life--utterly unpredictable, utterly dependent on God’s Providence and the work of our very hands.
Onto Madrid and Carnaval!
Last Friday my Master-Spanish-Painters class took our second field trip to the Prado, this time to admire the work of Francisco Goya. Goya is great, crazy, yes, but really quite an innovative force as far as the history of art is concerned. I quite enjoyed it. This time we wised up though and stayed after our tour was over to really appreciate the works of these master artists. In both of our tours we were only allowed to see each masterpiece for a few minutes while our professor talked, which was really frustrating, especially for El Greco and Velázquez, whom I love. I’m pretty sure we spent fifteen minutes in front of Velazquez’s Cristo Crucificado. This is one of those paintings that you have to see in real life, Christian or no. The corpus, Christ’s body, although depicted as dead, still retains a dynamic character. Over a dark, neutral background, the brilliance of the body suggests the light given to the world by this act of perfect self-sacrifice. Emily put it well, saying that lack of setting created by the neutral background, suggests, as did St. Thomas Aquinas, that the Prize of the Cross is the merit of all ages, not simply for those contemporaries of Christ. Every moment of time lies on the circle that circumvents this act of the God-Man, faces it, and bows down in adoration before it. Even as we speak, God watches Jesus “breath his last” so that he might always “remember his mercy” towards us whom are imperfect, and thus grant us the grace to persevere in holiness (Luke 23:46, 1:55).
It was now about noon and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon
because of an eclipse of the sun. Then the veil of the temple was torn down the middle.
Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit"; and when he had said this he breathed his last. - Luke 23: 44-46
The next night, our Carnaval celebration, was…well…less intellectually stimulating…to say the least. Carnaval is the Spanish equivalent of Mardi Gras…only it lasts several days. This is their holiday to disfrazarse (wear costumes), much like our Halloween, except instead of trick-or-treating Toledo has a city-wide parade and live entertainment (Salsa y Mergengue!) until…actually I have no idea because they were still going when we went home haha. Dressed in my chic gangster threads and a fuzzy bow tie donated to me by a not-so-scandalous (thank goodness!) ‘bunny,’ I thoroughly enjoyed the night. As per usual, Gabi and I danced it up to the Latin rhythms much to the delight of the middle-aged onlookers and our Puerto Rican compañeros. Much to my heart’s delight this latter group gave official recognition to my sangre boricua (Puerto Rican blood) after we rocked Zocodover. You'd be surprised how touching that is to someone like me who has had that chip on his shoulder for about...20 years! ¡Yo soy hijo de Borinquen Y eso nadie va a cambiar! (I'm a son of Borinquen [native for Puerto Rico] and ain't no one gonna change that!).
Ahh! Captain Flan! I'll be walking the plank for sure!
Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya! We call this our "Smile wit yo eyes" photo. Don't worry that's not lipstick on the cheek, just facepaint.
Nice threads gang!
Probably the highlight of night were Connor, Dan, and Pete. They had spent the night in Madrid (where Carnaval is not celebrated) and had purchased some creepy masks to enjoy the night in. Funny thing is that they were the only ones dressed up! Being the hams that they are, they did this crazy thing where they would go up to random people with said creepy masks on and just start saying “Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya!” as they would bob back and forth. This carried into Saturday and was absolutely hilarious. When we were catching the bus back to our neighborhood, they incorporated this habit into the Toledano anthem some locals taught us on the bus. We then answered them with the Victory March, which, despite the tonal discrepancies, was a welcome sound to my ears. Singing for 20 minutes certainly makes the bus ride seem shorter, and way more fun.
So yea, that was pretty much my last two weekends. This weekend is sure to hold an adventure! We’re off to Morocco! I hope I get to ride a camel! Prayers for safety please!
Have a happy and fruitful Lent!
Salamanca!
Salamanca is my favorite city so far. I hope Brittany is reading this right now and steaming with jealousy. I won’t lie though and say I am quite jealous of my old friend, who was blessed enough to remain there for a whole semester. It’s quaint, not touristy, and sin duda (without a doubt!) a lively little college town. I’m pretty sure this one Spain’s first really nice weekends, so townsfolk were out in droves welcoming home the long lost sun after they reluctantly had a taste of South Bend permacloud life is like. At night the Plaza Mayor smiles with light, providing one of the most beautiful man-made and non-ecclesial sights I’ve yet seen.
Open space = cartwheels and dance moves :-)
To boot, our group was fantastic. We had a great little hostal two blocks from the Plaza. The girls may have had a bigger room, but the gentlemen certainly won the best room prize. We had a balcony which overlooked the street and if you turned just a wee bit, you would see this. Pretty sweet, eh?
High-five for Pontifical Universities!
The night life there was a ton of fun. Everywhere we wanted to go was in relative proximity, including Jacko’s, a bar dedicated to the King of Pop himself. It wasn’t as spectacular as we imagined, but they had a drink called the Thriller which was mighty tasty. Both nights we ended up Leonardo’s, as I found out later, a place often frequented by Brittany and her friends. It’s a popular late-night Bocadillo spot. The great news is that I had the best sandwich of the semester in this place! Rightly dubbed the Plaza Mayor, it had chicken, cheese and onions…or something like that…I don’t quite remember…because it was so long ago! Don’t judge me :-)
This crazy vasco couldn't help us find a churrería, but he sang the FC Barcelona Anthem with me...so we let it slide
There is...a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and...a time to dance! - Ecclesiastes 3:4 (with a bit of poetic license)
Over the bridge we found a nice little grocer, who sold us all we needed for a fabulous picnic. Our handmade bocadillos didn’t top the ones from the previous night in a culinary respect, but they may have had the edge in the spontaneous community spirit which generated them. Our picnic spot was picturesque: right by the river, at the foot of a church, and surrounded by the most unique trees you’ll ever see. Some were the subject of artists, painted and decorated in all sorts of crazy ways, while the virgin ones that lined the river walkway had the form of hands clasping a glass of wine or brandy from beneath. On top of being an impressive sight, they were the perfect height for climbing--tough enough for a challenge, but quite doable. Pete and I took some cool shots from his camera, which he hasn’t put up on facebook yet, but thankfully I stole someone else’s photos.
They will see us waving from such great heights,
'Come down now,' they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away,
'Come down now,' but we'll stay...
Salamanca ended equally as well, with Pete and I firing up some cubanos in the Plaza Mayor on our last night, and a safe journey home to Toledo. Although we meant to catch a direct bus back to Madrid to catch the train to Toledo, we got an indirect. It was considerably longer…but so worth it. We trekked through the mid-afternoon countryside of Castilla-León, rife with cattle, hills, and awesome rock formations. That barbarian spark lit in me yet again, my eyes were fixed on this glorious landscape the whole trip. Praise God for such art, which can’t but seize our most romantic yearnings for a wild life--utterly unpredictable, utterly dependent on God’s Providence and the work of our very hands.
Onto Madrid and Carnaval!
Last Friday my Master-Spanish-Painters class took our second field trip to the Prado, this time to admire the work of Francisco Goya. Goya is great, crazy, yes, but really quite an innovative force as far as the history of art is concerned. I quite enjoyed it. This time we wised up though and stayed after our tour was over to really appreciate the works of these master artists. In both of our tours we were only allowed to see each masterpiece for a few minutes while our professor talked, which was really frustrating, especially for El Greco and Velázquez, whom I love. I’m pretty sure we spent fifteen minutes in front of Velazquez’s Cristo Crucificado. This is one of those paintings that you have to see in real life, Christian or no. The corpus, Christ’s body, although depicted as dead, still retains a dynamic character. Over a dark, neutral background, the brilliance of the body suggests the light given to the world by this act of perfect self-sacrifice. Emily put it well, saying that lack of setting created by the neutral background, suggests, as did St. Thomas Aquinas, that the Prize of the Cross is the merit of all ages, not simply for those contemporaries of Christ. Every moment of time lies on the circle that circumvents this act of the God-Man, faces it, and bows down in adoration before it. Even as we speak, God watches Jesus “breath his last” so that he might always “remember his mercy” towards us whom are imperfect, and thus grant us the grace to persevere in holiness (Luke 23:46, 1:55).
It was now about noon and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon
because of an eclipse of the sun. Then the veil of the temple was torn down the middle.
Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit"; and when he had said this he breathed his last. - Luke 23: 44-46
Ahh! Captain Flan! I'll be walking the plank for sure!
Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya! We call this our "Smile wit yo eyes" photo. Don't worry that's not lipstick on the cheek, just facepaint.
Nice threads gang!
So yea, that was pretty much my last two weekends. This weekend is sure to hold an adventure! We’re off to Morocco! I hope I get to ride a camel! Prayers for safety please!
Have a happy and fruitful Lent!
Monday, February 23, 2009
Archbishop of the World
Ok, so I haven't blogged in some time, it's midterms week, so that drought should end...eventually. For now all I've got is this:
http://whispersintheloggia.blogspot.com/
He's a great Catholic journalist who puts all sorts of "Catholic News" online. Most notably are his last few articles on the appointment of Archbishop Timothy Dolan to the cathedra of New York. I was supposed to hear him speak at a conference at ND my freshman year, but was sadly impeded. By all accounts, he's the man, so this should bode well for what JPII calls the "Archdiocese of the World." Pretty big gig, eh?
Anyway, he's being installed after Easter, so when I get home from the Continent anyone want to go hear him say Mass at St. Pat's?
I thought so!
Until I actually blog about life, love, and surreal weekend trips...God's peace. Wish me luck on my wicked hard exam tomorrow!
Good quote on God's personal nature from Fr. Robert Barron, one America's premier Catholic scholars/renaissance men.
"If God is just the Force, well then I can tap into it when I feel like it, I can from time to time get in touch with it, but then get on with my life. But--if God, the Creator of all things is a person who is after me--that's more frightening, it's more dangerous...but more thrilling at the end of the day."
http://whispersintheloggia.blogspot.com/
He's a great Catholic journalist who puts all sorts of "Catholic News" online. Most notably are his last few articles on the appointment of Archbishop Timothy Dolan to the cathedra of New York. I was supposed to hear him speak at a conference at ND my freshman year, but was sadly impeded. By all accounts, he's the man, so this should bode well for what JPII calls the "Archdiocese of the World." Pretty big gig, eh?
Anyway, he's being installed after Easter, so when I get home from the Continent anyone want to go hear him say Mass at St. Pat's?
I thought so!
Until I actually blog about life, love, and surreal weekend trips...God's peace. Wish me luck on my wicked hard exam tomorrow!
Good quote on God's personal nature from Fr. Robert Barron, one America's premier Catholic scholars/renaissance men.
"If God is just the Force, well then I can tap into it when I feel like it, I can from time to time get in touch with it, but then get on with my life. But--if God, the Creator of all things is a person who is after me--that's more frightening, it's more dangerous...but more thrilling at the end of the day."
Thursday, February 12, 2009
A Stranger and You Welcomed Me
“Into whatever house you enter, first say, 'Peace to this household.' If a peaceful person 5 lives there, your peace will rest on him; but if not, it will return to you” (Luke 10: 5-6).
The Christian tradition has long been renowned for its commitment to hospitality, to taking in friend or weary stranger in times of need. St. Benedict says it well to his monks, “Humility is to be shown to all arriving or departing guests: by bowing the head or prostrating the whole body on the ground Christ is to be adored in them just as he is received in them” (Rule 53:6). I am proud to say my own family revels in this tradition, starting with my Abuelee who for over forty years has been caring for the poor of El Salvador, and in my own life, the countless parties which have been enjoyed and carried well into the night at my very home…not to mention the countless number of teenage boys who, for at least one night, have called our basement floor their home.
Thus, I have been conditioned not only to open a door of hospitality to friend and neighbor, but also have learned to appreciate it, thanks to the great role models who bless my life. In this one month (that’s right today’s the one month anniversary of arriving in España!!!) I have already gratuitous amounts of hospitality, so much so I can’t help but write it down for my own memory.
I have to start first with my family, La Familia Del Pino Morales. They are really Godsends. I was very nervous coming here (Thanks Brittany!!!) that I wouldn’t like the food (forgetting the mouth is a veritable vacuum cleaner), would suffer intense culture shock, and would struggle outside Notre Dame’s vibrant liturgical life. Well, none of those three have manifested negatively. There’s certainly culture shock, pero no pasa nada…see I’m getting used to it already! I also wish a few more people went to Church, but again no pasa nada.
Back to los Del Pino Morales. They’re cooking expertise and calm demeanor make me feel so welcome and comfortable here…hence why I’m not doing any homework right now hahaha…maybe that’s just a reflection of my work ethic though. Last weekend I went to one of Fernando’s football matches with them…good times. The Señora is quite the fan…and I bet the referees appreciate her enthusiasm oh so much…ha. Let’s just say when the red-shirted arbitro got home he probably looked at a tomato in his kitchen and said “I don’t look like that…do I?” It was a good game though. Fernando’s team won, against the top team in the league no less, although he did get hurt (all better now!), and there were four red cards shown, on top of a montón de amarillos. Concurrently, Silvia was swimming to qualify for nationals. She only came home with three first place trophies…Michael Phelps anyone? Except for the DUI and the pot part of course :-) Needless to say the next day was a day of celebration in the house…culminated by the paella fabulosa which we had for comida…keep the victories coming hermanos!!! Truly though, they treat me as one of their own…evidenced by their relentless picking on me for loving to sleep and eat…and not work hehe.
My next group of welcomers se llaman (are called) La Fraternidad de María Estrella de la Mañana (Fraternity of Mary Star of the Morning). They are a new religious order within the Catholic Church and are in charge of La Sinagoga María Estrella del Mar (Mary Star of the Sea Synagogue). That’s right, it is a synagogue named after Mary and run by a Catholic religious order. It was a synagogue before the Jews of Toledo were expelled, then it was converted into a Church (hence the name) and is now designated as a place of reconciliation for Catholics and Jews. The founder of the order, Hermano Abraham de la Cruz, was born into a Franco-Jewish family, was an atheist, then converted to Catholicism. He is an artist, poet, and I think, a mystic of sorts (don’t quote me on that yet) and straight baller. When Emily, Maeve, and I visited this historic site, we made friends with two of the nuns who invited us to say Vespers with them on Sunday. We took them up on the offer (to their surprise I think) and were welcomed with such open arms. Hugs, smiles, and introductions were exchanged de prisa (hurriedly) as they were about to begin praying. A nice young brother (recently professed as we would find out) showed us where exactly to look in the breviaries, which are even more intimidating in Spanish. It was such a beautiful prayer, they all could sing, and there was such sincerity, such a genuine love of God in their voices. Afterwards several of us went into their sitting room, whose view of Toledo is breathtaking, and chatted for over an hour. Hermano Abraham was visiting for the weekend, so it was a great time to visit.
His perceptiveness and incredible wisdom more or less pierced our souls throughout the whole conversation (look for more in a reflective post which is still under construction). The softness of his French accent combined with the musicality of the Spanish language held the ears of our hearts captive as he encouraged us forth in life of prayer and service. The other community members present, one of whom was his son (long story) and another of whom entered a Buddhist monastery at 6, offered us bits of advice garnered from the novels of their lives. It was clear that this was group of people who had serious self-knowledge, and what’s more, a serious knowledge of who they truly are and how God calls them daily. This was evidenced by the fact that what should’ve been “awkward silences” were not. Often times you can tell when people feel uncomfortable during silence, they need a distraction, they need to be occupied. However, it was clear that everyone in that room was so aware of God’s presence; they could sit in silence all day and hear God’s voice as clearly as a baby’s cry. Unfortunately we couldn’t stay for dinner, but that just gives a reason to go back! The recipients of dos besos and a shower of blessings, Em, Maeve, and I walked out of that house in awe of what had just happened…in awe of how strangers had become good friends because of a simple invitation, a simple prayer, and a simple conversation.
Hospitable encounter number three happened this morning. Yo madrugué (I woke up very early…haha yes, Spanish has a verb for waking up at the crack of dawn) went to the Cathedral to hear a Mass in the Hispano-Mozarb rite. It dates all the way back to some of the earliest Christian people of Spain (ca. 5th Century) and has been kept alive by the city of Toledo since the whole Church went on the Roman Rite. It was pretty awesome. The priests begin by chanting their morning prayer and then Mass begins. The priest had an amazing voice. His chants were quite moving and offered time for some awesome internal prayer. After Mass, I was allowed to walk around the Cathedral for free (usually €7), which was amazing, and something I plan on doing again. Anyhoo, while I was meandering around the main altar (wow…that’s all I have to say) and the choir, I heard a tour guide speaking in English. So I nonchalantly wandered over to hear what he had to say, and walked away well informed. To no seem shady, I walked away from the group, only to meet them later in the Cathedral’s museum/art gallery. One of the women separated from the group and was near me admiring El Greco’s El Expolio. I asked her where they were from and a sweet Southern accent informed me they were from Baton Rouge.
The colors here are a little off, but in the real one Christ's red tunic stands out like crazy
As we continued to talk, she got over her prejudice against Yankees for a minute :-), I found out they were traveling with their parish throughout the Peninsula on a vacation/pilgrimage. Their pastor was with them and was going to be saying a Mass shortly…in English!!! She kindly invited me, and I couldn’t resist hearing the words of the Sacred Liturgy in my native tongue, so I joined them. What’s more is that they were holding the Mass in a chapel usually closed to the public, so I got to see a part of the Cathedral otherwise unknown to me. It was a beautiful Mass. As today’s first reading spoke of man’s need for companionship and the creation of Eve, Fr. David spoke passionately about the intimacy we are called to share with another, not just husband and wife, but all of us—brothers and sisters in Christ. Talk about practicing before you preach. Without knowing too much about my life, I could’ve been a con-artist for all they knew, they opened their community to me and yearned for me to pray with them. At the sign of peace the women opened their arms to me as mothers and the men made their “brother” as one called me. As we were about to part ways, Fr. David me gave me his card and offered his parish to me as a place of repose if I were ever in Baton Rouge. I hope to take them up on that offer one day :-)
All in all, this pilgrimage of a semester has thoroughly convinced me of the great power that a hospitable home or community has to change hearts. To invite a stranger is to invite Christ, for not only does He say, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me” (Matthew 25:35) but also “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20). Thus, for us to extend ourselves and our homes to others brings blessing upon us and to all. What a great reason to have a party!!!
“When you hold a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind; blessed indeed will you be because of their inability to repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous" (Luke 14: 13-14)
The Christian tradition has long been renowned for its commitment to hospitality, to taking in friend or weary stranger in times of need. St. Benedict says it well to his monks, “Humility is to be shown to all arriving or departing guests: by bowing the head or prostrating the whole body on the ground Christ is to be adored in them just as he is received in them” (Rule 53:6). I am proud to say my own family revels in this tradition, starting with my Abuelee who for over forty years has been caring for the poor of El Salvador, and in my own life, the countless parties which have been enjoyed and carried well into the night at my very home…not to mention the countless number of teenage boys who, for at least one night, have called our basement floor their home.
Thus, I have been conditioned not only to open a door of hospitality to friend and neighbor, but also have learned to appreciate it, thanks to the great role models who bless my life. In this one month (that’s right today’s the one month anniversary of arriving in España!!!) I have already gratuitous amounts of hospitality, so much so I can’t help but write it down for my own memory.
I have to start first with my family, La Familia Del Pino Morales. They are really Godsends. I was very nervous coming here (Thanks Brittany!!!) that I wouldn’t like the food (forgetting the mouth is a veritable vacuum cleaner), would suffer intense culture shock, and would struggle outside Notre Dame’s vibrant liturgical life. Well, none of those three have manifested negatively. There’s certainly culture shock, pero no pasa nada…see I’m getting used to it already! I also wish a few more people went to Church, but again no pasa nada.
Back to los Del Pino Morales. They’re cooking expertise and calm demeanor make me feel so welcome and comfortable here…hence why I’m not doing any homework right now hahaha…maybe that’s just a reflection of my work ethic though. Last weekend I went to one of Fernando’s football matches with them…good times. The Señora is quite the fan…and I bet the referees appreciate her enthusiasm oh so much…ha. Let’s just say when the red-shirted arbitro got home he probably looked at a tomato in his kitchen and said “I don’t look like that…do I?” It was a good game though. Fernando’s team won, against the top team in the league no less, although he did get hurt (all better now!), and there were four red cards shown, on top of a montón de amarillos. Concurrently, Silvia was swimming to qualify for nationals. She only came home with three first place trophies…Michael Phelps anyone? Except for the DUI and the pot part of course :-) Needless to say the next day was a day of celebration in the house…culminated by the paella fabulosa which we had for comida…keep the victories coming hermanos!!! Truly though, they treat me as one of their own…evidenced by their relentless picking on me for loving to sleep and eat…and not work hehe.
My next group of welcomers se llaman (are called) La Fraternidad de María Estrella de la Mañana (Fraternity of Mary Star of the Morning). They are a new religious order within the Catholic Church and are in charge of La Sinagoga María Estrella del Mar (Mary Star of the Sea Synagogue). That’s right, it is a synagogue named after Mary and run by a Catholic religious order. It was a synagogue before the Jews of Toledo were expelled, then it was converted into a Church (hence the name) and is now designated as a place of reconciliation for Catholics and Jews. The founder of the order, Hermano Abraham de la Cruz, was born into a Franco-Jewish family, was an atheist, then converted to Catholicism. He is an artist, poet, and I think, a mystic of sorts (don’t quote me on that yet) and straight baller. When Emily, Maeve, and I visited this historic site, we made friends with two of the nuns who invited us to say Vespers with them on Sunday. We took them up on the offer (to their surprise I think) and were welcomed with such open arms. Hugs, smiles, and introductions were exchanged de prisa (hurriedly) as they were about to begin praying. A nice young brother (recently professed as we would find out) showed us where exactly to look in the breviaries, which are even more intimidating in Spanish. It was such a beautiful prayer, they all could sing, and there was such sincerity, such a genuine love of God in their voices. Afterwards several of us went into their sitting room, whose view of Toledo is breathtaking, and chatted for over an hour. Hermano Abraham was visiting for the weekend, so it was a great time to visit.
His perceptiveness and incredible wisdom more or less pierced our souls throughout the whole conversation (look for more in a reflective post which is still under construction). The softness of his French accent combined with the musicality of the Spanish language held the ears of our hearts captive as he encouraged us forth in life of prayer and service. The other community members present, one of whom was his son (long story) and another of whom entered a Buddhist monastery at 6, offered us bits of advice garnered from the novels of their lives. It was clear that this was group of people who had serious self-knowledge, and what’s more, a serious knowledge of who they truly are and how God calls them daily. This was evidenced by the fact that what should’ve been “awkward silences” were not. Often times you can tell when people feel uncomfortable during silence, they need a distraction, they need to be occupied. However, it was clear that everyone in that room was so aware of God’s presence; they could sit in silence all day and hear God’s voice as clearly as a baby’s cry. Unfortunately we couldn’t stay for dinner, but that just gives a reason to go back! The recipients of dos besos and a shower of blessings, Em, Maeve, and I walked out of that house in awe of what had just happened…in awe of how strangers had become good friends because of a simple invitation, a simple prayer, and a simple conversation.
Some of Hermano Abraham's art. Clockwise: Autoretrato, Corpus Christi, y Silencio
Hospitable encounter number three happened this morning. Yo madrugué (I woke up very early…haha yes, Spanish has a verb for waking up at the crack of dawn) went to the Cathedral to hear a Mass in the Hispano-Mozarb rite. It dates all the way back to some of the earliest Christian people of Spain (ca. 5th Century) and has been kept alive by the city of Toledo since the whole Church went on the Roman Rite. It was pretty awesome. The priests begin by chanting their morning prayer and then Mass begins. The priest had an amazing voice. His chants were quite moving and offered time for some awesome internal prayer. After Mass, I was allowed to walk around the Cathedral for free (usually €7), which was amazing, and something I plan on doing again. Anyhoo, while I was meandering around the main altar (wow…that’s all I have to say) and the choir, I heard a tour guide speaking in English. So I nonchalantly wandered over to hear what he had to say, and walked away well informed. To no seem shady, I walked away from the group, only to meet them later in the Cathedral’s museum/art gallery. One of the women separated from the group and was near me admiring El Greco’s El Expolio. I asked her where they were from and a sweet Southern accent informed me they were from Baton Rouge.
The colors here are a little off, but in the real one Christ's red tunic stands out like crazy
All in all, this pilgrimage of a semester has thoroughly convinced me of the great power that a hospitable home or community has to change hearts. To invite a stranger is to invite Christ, for not only does He say, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me” (Matthew 25:35) but also “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20). Thus, for us to extend ourselves and our homes to others brings blessing upon us and to all. What a great reason to have a party!!!
“When you hold a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind; blessed indeed will you be because of their inability to repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous" (Luke 14: 13-14)
Friday, February 6, 2009
From Picasso to Fracaso - A Barcelona Tale (note: this got pretty lengthy)
Ok, don’t worry Iberophiles, I didn’t hate Barcelona, nor was the journey a literal fracaso (failure). It was however, an incredibly real two days. I say real because the number of unnerving, frustrating, or slightly maligned experiences was sufficient to remind our group of human frailty and our constant need to surmount the obstacles such frailty can present. It also reminded us how much fun you can have when you smile, laugh, and don’t let things bother you too much.
It started from the get-go. Several of us from the same neighborhood were meeting to catch a bus to the bus station from which we would head northeast to Madrid, and then even more northeast to Barcelona on an overnight bus. Well we missed the very first one. I also wasn’t able to eat dinner with the fam, so I was smidge frustrated to begin with. (Ok, keep your cool, Javs. It’s gonna be a great weekend. We gave ourselves plenty of time to mess up.) By the time the next bus came and got us to the station our old enemy Señor Tiempo forced us into a sprint to the ticket counter and then to the Madrid bus. -Safely onboard, and friendly faces there waiting for us…and Flannery with a half-baguette craving someone to devour it!-
So far one bump, but not so drastic. I have to put a little censor stamp here and leave out the events partaken during the two hours we had to kill while waiting for the Barcelona bus. I will say though that Spain’s blatant racism did manage to help us find someone willing to neglect his obligation to obey Spanish Blue Laws. Ha. Onto Bus #3, which was long, but easy as pie. The man next to me was very nice and we had a nice little chat before easing comfortably into our respective dream worlds. That would be the last I saw of him though, because during the potty break he agreed to switch with Em, who was also seated with a stranger…who was asleep when the switch was made…I would’ve loved to see her reaction when a 20-year-old Irish girl transformed into a 30-something Nepali (Yes, Nepali as in mountains and monks, not Napolitano, as in Pizza a Tri-flavored ice cream) chef living in Barcelona :-)
So we arrive early in the morning to what I imagine will be the best weekend ever. Apparently our hostal was a smidge outside the city center though, so after a decent Metro ride and short walk we found ourselves at the Aryan Youth Hostal…you can imagine the apprehension sizzling within each of us. White supremacist hostal…oh boy. Thankfully they were dark-skinned Catalanes and more than friendly. They just don’t know how to name their business. They also had something against putting a lock on our bedroom door…riiiight…big lockers though. Thankfully no one else was staying there…
Guided by the intense, highlighter-stained map that our aspiring artist of a hostal owner gave us, we made it to the city center and began a trek of many steps, skips, and obnoxious model (tourist) poses. Throughout our whole trip we found ourselves several times on Las Ramblas, Barcelona’s famous pedestrian avenue which heads to the port. There isn’t a time I can remember where we were exposed to something completely foreign, or even alien. This first time it was the animal vendors who got us. I’m not talking dead, tasty animals…I’m talking pets.
However, what isn’t new to us is sneaking into ritzy hotels…partly to be sneaky, but partly to use their bathrooms. I forgot to add in my Madrid tale the time Emily, Maeve, and I snuck into the Madrid Ritz…very classy. I think they were onto us, but they didn’t say anything. Nor did they say a word in the Barcelona hotel, whose name I forget. They had nice bathrooms though, and cool artsy photos covering whole walls.
Three more awesome stops on Las Ramblas – the Church (Mary, Mother of God in Bethlehem I think) and St. Joseph’s Market…high five for Dulce de Leche Gelato!…and the Lions at the foot of the massive Columbus monuments which marks the end of Ramblas. No bumps here, just pure delight…at least so says the camera ;-)
The Schnozberries taste like Schnozberries!!!
Maeve and Mary Kate = Lucy and Susan riding on Aslan. I'm dinner at the Coloseum and Flannery is one happy little Roman.
After taking some ridiculous photos at the border of the Gothic district, we made our way towards the Picasso Museum. This sweet museum is tucked within the District’s quintessentially narrow European streets. Crazy little shops and cafés, crowned by several stories of apartments, tower over you. Miniature Gardens of Babylon hang from balconies as the cornucopia of colors and styles refresh eyes dulled by the cookie-cutter suburbs whence they come. Finally the museum happens upon you. There’s not too much to report, I think most people know about the guy. The good news is that he was actually a decent ‘normal’ painter, not some really frustrated artist who wanted to stick it to the system…although his 50+ renditions of Velazquez’s Las Meninas suggested to us that he may have been a tad jealous of the famous court painter…but let’s be honest who isn’t…the man could paint.
Next stop – ¡El Templo de La Sagrada Famila! Don’t be cock your head too much at the word Templo, apparently it’s commonly used in Spain to designate a church of particular importance, apart from the official designations of Basilica and Cathedral. So this place is awesome, and so was our tour guide. She actually gave a presentation to the EU Congress about Sagrada Familia…not that they listened because they hate Christianity, but still that’s cool, right? The beauty of Sagrada Familia is actually manages to fuse the beautiful symbolism employed but Sacred Artists and Architects throughout the 2,000 years of the Church and fresh modern art. Most attempts at this fail miserably, but Gaudi, being a strong Catholic Catalán figured it out. His work was a prayer and it shows.
Apart from its dedication to the Holy Family, it is also dedicated to the Rosary. Inside there is a Rosary Chapel, or at least one half of it…the other was conveniently bombed by Atheist Commies before the war. The best part of it is this mini-statue. As a general theme of the Templo is turning our hearts towards Truth, every non-Jesus or Mary looks at either a Jesus or a Mary…so cool. This figure immortalizes the man who bombed the shrine, but instead of him condemned, Gaudi placed him alongside and rejecting a bomb-offering demon, choosing instead the vision of the Blessed Mother. St. Louis du Monfort’s motto, “To Jesus through Mary” rings sweetly this victory of forgiveness over spitefulness.
Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free ~ John 8:32
Moreover, Each of the three main sides is to depict a set of mysteries (JPII’s Luminous were not in place when the Church was started…in the 1800s!). The Joyful and Sorrowful are the only ones finished. The Joyful side, the one Gaudi finished in his life time is outrageous. I can’t even begin to describe it. Unfortunately, as Laura, our guide pointed out, the man who took over to do the Sorrowful side scrapped Gaudi’s ideas and did his own things, which is way more mod, and frankly pretty ugly. Supposedly the block figures are to represent the starkness of death, but they’re just not appealing and scream way more “Look at me” than “Think/Pray about what I mean.” Oh well, the Glorious side is being done according to Gaudi’s beautiful Candy-Land-esque design. I suppose that makes it sound cheesy, but the idea is to convey the notion that Heavenly life compared to this one, is what a colorful image is to a black and white one (a la the Wizard of Oz, CS Lewis, Augustine, Plato, yea the list goes on…). K, I could go on forever about SF. Mass should start being said in about 2 years. The Church itself isn’t slotted to be finished until 2045…fat chance if they’re even done then.
Kk, so far this sounds boring, right? Everything has gone as planned…psshhh…We’re foreigners, something’s gotta go awry. We went back to Ramblas for dinner and found “Brasil” a nice looking place with cheap Paella and tapas…hiyo! Unfortunately our server had the geniality of a badger and the mathematical ability of…a crook? Our order wasn’t that hard to take: 8 paellas and 1 beefsteak; 3 sangrias, 4 waters, and 2 beers…somehow he made it difficult. Then instead of letting each person choose their own two tapas, he very uncordially said he’d take care of that…which I didn’t mind so much, being the piggish eater I am. So the food was great. I had never had octopus, but found it quite scrumptious. They made the rice nice and wet like it were straight from Aba’s arrocero…¡que rico! But then the bill came, €92…not bad. But wait, in pen right below it, it says €108…where did that €16 come from. Politely we ask about the extra charge…oh…there’s a €1 service charge per person…and clearly 92 + 9 = 108…yea not so much. So we inform him of his math error and well apparently the Catalanes are very defensive of their alternate system of arithmetic. We didn’t back down though. Mostly because he was trying to argue with us in English and we with him in Spanish…so no one was really saying what they wanted. Eventually we won. On the way out I decided to prepare our English-speaking neighbors for their inevitable encounter with bad math, and I guess that upset him. I got yelled at the whole way out of the restaurant, but it’s ok, I neither got food poisoning nor paid more than I ought.
[Note more than 36 hours have elapsed since I have touched this entry…and I feel like it’s too long already…so here’s the condensed version]
After dinner – delicious gelato at a place two doors down, and then they felt like giving us free samples of everything…so awesome. Then we walked and walked until we found…gasp!...the beach!!! It was somewhat chilly, but the sheer thrill of dipping one’s feet into Mediterranean waters generated enough heat and excitement to maintain homeostasis. Although the beach was a bit rocky, I can’t complain…cuz it was a beach…and you know they say beaches like that are really good for your feet because they exfoliate…and for once ‘they’ were right. The feets are a lot nicer now. We stayed for a while trying to capture some cool night photos…I think Emily was the only patient enough to get any though.
Yep...that's a beach!!!
From there some wise folk went off to sleep and the rest went out to find Melissa’s friend Dave (fellow Connecticutians) and his posse at the “Dow Jones Bar” wherein drink prices fluctuate according to supply and demand…pretty snazzy! We were there for a while having a good time, but the metro stopped at two and we didn’t want to toy with a bus system we had no idea to navigate, so we left. Poor choice. We could find neither a metro stop, nor the right bus stop…nor our way back. After being shut down by a less than amiable bus driver, laughed at by a local, then finally humble enough to call Dave at the bar, we found our way back in. Unfortunately the bar was just about to close and one of the bartenders was breaking a bottle of vodka to threaten someone with as we were walking in…uh oh! We got out nice and quick.
After finally settling on a bus stop, we somehow made it home, although our proprietor was less than enthused for us to come home so late, but oh well :-) We tried our best to be quiet as some were already asleep in the room, but that was highly unsuccessful.
After a reinvigorating five hours of sleep we awoke to try our luck in Barca’s streets again. Upon arriving to the gates of the Metro, some locals unwittingly showed us a quite cost-efficient way to use the system. Instead of one person walking through per ticket swipe, why not two? It’s mischievous sure, but why not try if the locals do it. It worked the first time, well why not try three…gulp. Thankfully I was not a part of this oh so inconspicuous group of poor travelers. The first two made it through quite easily, as we had seen previously. However, the amiable Dan Maloof soon bore the brunt of Barcelona’s frugality. The two panels which had part like the Sea of Reeds for his predecessors crashed in on him as waves of water over Egyptian chariots…funny that he’s actually part Arabic too. I laughed. Then, to add to his shame, I saw that the doors in the aisle next to him were for one reason or another malfunctioning, thus wide open for anyone’s use. So I nonchalantly walked through, giving him a sinister little smirk as I eased by him. His reaction, his bruise, the whole event was such a scene from a movie. I’ll have to use it one day…if I ever make a movie…in a Barcelona metro.
Then the group split. The girls went to Park Guell, Gaudi’s masterpiece of a park, and Dan and I went to the Nou Camp—FC Barcelona’s stadium!!! It was pretty awesome to see it in person. Sadly we couldn’t go in without unloading a Euro or two, and it’s way out there in the city so it took us a lot longer than we thought. We tried to meet the girls at the Park, but no dice, as time was a factor. Instead we waited for them and split a tasty little baguette.
Tot el camp! [clap-clap-clap] és un clam [clap-clap-clap] som la gent blaugrana!!!
Then it started to rain, which put a damper in some of our plans. We still braved the journey to Montjuic – the site of the 1992 Olympics!!! Seeing the torch was most impressive, especially when Mary Kate recounted to me how it was lit. For those of you who forget or were too young, that year one Spain’s best athletes was an archer…so he stood in the middle of the Estadio Olimpico…and shot a flaming arrow into the center of the torch…pretty awesome. Google video it…it’s fantastic.
Nastia Liuken, Lebron James, Michael Johnson, Kobe Bryant, and Mia Hamm
Mass at the Cathedral was our next stop, and boy was it moving…here’s why. The Churches in Barcelona aren’t the prettiest. They’re certainly nice, but they all have this weird black stuff all over the ceilings and on the pillars…oh…that’s because the communists bombed and set them ablaze during the fighting at the beginning of the 20th century and in the Civil War. Many a priest, brother, and nun were martyred defending those Churches…defending their faith. It’s sad that the two sides of the war had to be communism and fascism, because naturally the Church would side with the fascists who not only wouldn’t bomb them, but offered them considerable protection…a decision which has created a serious backlash against the Church in our day. Sorry they didn’t want to get bombed…
Anyway, just looking up and seeing the residue of hate and ignorance was quite inspiring for this young Catholic. It reminded me of the constant need not only for forgiveness, but also for evangelization: spreading the message of love that transcends politics and ideologies. Gaudi’s statue of the would-be bomber looking towards Our Lady of the Rosary suddenly meant so much more to me. There was a realization that something like that could happen in our own day. How would I react? Would I lash out in irrational violence, would I cower in fear, or could I actually stand for love and truth in the name of God and Church? I have no idea. Hopefully that day will never come, but should it, God willing I’ll be ready.
Dinner after was tasty…but marred by a sneaky Catalán who thought stealing Melissa’s purse would be a good idea. Jerk. Thankfully she composed herself well and we got her in contact with her credit card company to cancel everything. Luckily, her passport was packed elsewhere. So no big losses, but trying to find the police station was no easy task…nor was finding the other station the man referred us to. The cop on duty wasn’t that helpful either. He just sat there nodding as Melissa told her story. He wasn’t going to do anything. He even said “If they’re good thieves they’ve already changed, so I can’t help you.” I appreciate the honesty, but at least try and cheer the girl up. Not the best moment to end your Barcelona trip on :-(
After that was a Metro ride to the bus station and an overnight ride home. After a nice chat about faith and all sorts of things with Flannery, we both eased back into our seats to get some rest.
All in all it was a crazy little two days. To say our moods could be charted on a sin-curve is an understatement. All weekend we oscillated between sheer silliness and utter frustration. I suppose that made for a very realistic trip though. We shouldn’t expect the best of times wherever we go…and sadly we can’t always expect to meet the nicest people. Seeing as no sneaky waiter, indifferent bus driver, or greedy pickpocket found a way to ruin our weekend, I’d say we’re in for a great semester. We have a Spirit of joy which cannot be quelled.
It started from the get-go. Several of us from the same neighborhood were meeting to catch a bus to the bus station from which we would head northeast to Madrid, and then even more northeast to Barcelona on an overnight bus. Well we missed the very first one. I also wasn’t able to eat dinner with the fam, so I was smidge frustrated to begin with. (Ok, keep your cool, Javs. It’s gonna be a great weekend. We gave ourselves plenty of time to mess up.) By the time the next bus came and got us to the station our old enemy Señor Tiempo forced us into a sprint to the ticket counter and then to the Madrid bus. -Safely onboard, and friendly faces there waiting for us…and Flannery with a half-baguette craving someone to devour it!-
So far one bump, but not so drastic. I have to put a little censor stamp here and leave out the events partaken during the two hours we had to kill while waiting for the Barcelona bus. I will say though that Spain’s blatant racism did manage to help us find someone willing to neglect his obligation to obey Spanish Blue Laws. Ha. Onto Bus #3, which was long, but easy as pie. The man next to me was very nice and we had a nice little chat before easing comfortably into our respective dream worlds. That would be the last I saw of him though, because during the potty break he agreed to switch with Em, who was also seated with a stranger…who was asleep when the switch was made…I would’ve loved to see her reaction when a 20-year-old Irish girl transformed into a 30-something Nepali (Yes, Nepali as in mountains and monks, not Napolitano, as in Pizza a Tri-flavored ice cream) chef living in Barcelona :-)
So we arrive early in the morning to what I imagine will be the best weekend ever. Apparently our hostal was a smidge outside the city center though, so after a decent Metro ride and short walk we found ourselves at the Aryan Youth Hostal…you can imagine the apprehension sizzling within each of us. White supremacist hostal…oh boy. Thankfully they were dark-skinned Catalanes and more than friendly. They just don’t know how to name their business. They also had something against putting a lock on our bedroom door…riiiight…big lockers though. Thankfully no one else was staying there…
Guided by the intense, highlighter-stained map that our aspiring artist of a hostal owner gave us, we made it to the city center and began a trek of many steps, skips, and obnoxious model (tourist) poses. Throughout our whole trip we found ourselves several times on Las Ramblas, Barcelona’s famous pedestrian avenue which heads to the port. There isn’t a time I can remember where we were exposed to something completely foreign, or even alien. This first time it was the animal vendors who got us. I’m not talking dead, tasty animals…I’m talking pets.
However, what isn’t new to us is sneaking into ritzy hotels…partly to be sneaky, but partly to use their bathrooms. I forgot to add in my Madrid tale the time Emily, Maeve, and I snuck into the Madrid Ritz…very classy. I think they were onto us, but they didn’t say anything. Nor did they say a word in the Barcelona hotel, whose name I forget. They had nice bathrooms though, and cool artsy photos covering whole walls.
Three more awesome stops on Las Ramblas – the Church (Mary, Mother of God in Bethlehem I think) and St. Joseph’s Market…high five for Dulce de Leche Gelato!…and the Lions at the foot of the massive Columbus monuments which marks the end of Ramblas. No bumps here, just pure delight…at least so says the camera ;-)
The Schnozberries taste like Schnozberries!!!
Maeve and Mary Kate = Lucy and Susan riding on Aslan. I'm dinner at the Coloseum and Flannery is one happy little Roman.
After taking some ridiculous photos at the border of the Gothic district, we made our way towards the Picasso Museum. This sweet museum is tucked within the District’s quintessentially narrow European streets. Crazy little shops and cafés, crowned by several stories of apartments, tower over you. Miniature Gardens of Babylon hang from balconies as the cornucopia of colors and styles refresh eyes dulled by the cookie-cutter suburbs whence they come. Finally the museum happens upon you. There’s not too much to report, I think most people know about the guy. The good news is that he was actually a decent ‘normal’ painter, not some really frustrated artist who wanted to stick it to the system…although his 50+ renditions of Velazquez’s Las Meninas suggested to us that he may have been a tad jealous of the famous court painter…but let’s be honest who isn’t…the man could paint.
Next stop – ¡El Templo de La Sagrada Famila! Don’t be cock your head too much at the word Templo, apparently it’s commonly used in Spain to designate a church of particular importance, apart from the official designations of Basilica and Cathedral. So this place is awesome, and so was our tour guide. She actually gave a presentation to the EU Congress about Sagrada Familia…not that they listened because they hate Christianity, but still that’s cool, right? The beauty of Sagrada Familia is actually manages to fuse the beautiful symbolism employed but Sacred Artists and Architects throughout the 2,000 years of the Church and fresh modern art. Most attempts at this fail miserably, but Gaudi, being a strong Catholic Catalán figured it out. His work was a prayer and it shows.
Apart from its dedication to the Holy Family, it is also dedicated to the Rosary. Inside there is a Rosary Chapel, or at least one half of it…the other was conveniently bombed by Atheist Commies before the war. The best part of it is this mini-statue. As a general theme of the Templo is turning our hearts towards Truth, every non-Jesus or Mary looks at either a Jesus or a Mary…so cool. This figure immortalizes the man who bombed the shrine, but instead of him condemned, Gaudi placed him alongside and rejecting a bomb-offering demon, choosing instead the vision of the Blessed Mother. St. Louis du Monfort’s motto, “To Jesus through Mary” rings sweetly this victory of forgiveness over spitefulness.
Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free ~ John 8:32
Kk, so far this sounds boring, right? Everything has gone as planned…psshhh…We’re foreigners, something’s gotta go awry. We went back to Ramblas for dinner and found “Brasil” a nice looking place with cheap Paella and tapas…hiyo! Unfortunately our server had the geniality of a badger and the mathematical ability of…a crook? Our order wasn’t that hard to take: 8 paellas and 1 beefsteak; 3 sangrias, 4 waters, and 2 beers…somehow he made it difficult. Then instead of letting each person choose their own two tapas, he very uncordially said he’d take care of that…which I didn’t mind so much, being the piggish eater I am. So the food was great. I had never had octopus, but found it quite scrumptious. They made the rice nice and wet like it were straight from Aba’s arrocero…¡que rico! But then the bill came, €92…not bad. But wait, in pen right below it, it says €108…where did that €16 come from. Politely we ask about the extra charge…oh…there’s a €1 service charge per person…and clearly 92 + 9 = 108…yea not so much. So we inform him of his math error and well apparently the Catalanes are very defensive of their alternate system of arithmetic. We didn’t back down though. Mostly because he was trying to argue with us in English and we with him in Spanish…so no one was really saying what they wanted. Eventually we won. On the way out I decided to prepare our English-speaking neighbors for their inevitable encounter with bad math, and I guess that upset him. I got yelled at the whole way out of the restaurant, but it’s ok, I neither got food poisoning nor paid more than I ought.
[Note more than 36 hours have elapsed since I have touched this entry…and I feel like it’s too long already…so here’s the condensed version]
After dinner – delicious gelato at a place two doors down, and then they felt like giving us free samples of everything…so awesome. Then we walked and walked until we found…gasp!...the beach!!! It was somewhat chilly, but the sheer thrill of dipping one’s feet into Mediterranean waters generated enough heat and excitement to maintain homeostasis. Although the beach was a bit rocky, I can’t complain…cuz it was a beach…and you know they say beaches like that are really good for your feet because they exfoliate…and for once ‘they’ were right. The feets are a lot nicer now. We stayed for a while trying to capture some cool night photos…I think Emily was the only patient enough to get any though.
Yep...that's a beach!!!
After finally settling on a bus stop, we somehow made it home, although our proprietor was less than enthused for us to come home so late, but oh well :-) We tried our best to be quiet as some were already asleep in the room, but that was highly unsuccessful.
After a reinvigorating five hours of sleep we awoke to try our luck in Barca’s streets again. Upon arriving to the gates of the Metro, some locals unwittingly showed us a quite cost-efficient way to use the system. Instead of one person walking through per ticket swipe, why not two? It’s mischievous sure, but why not try if the locals do it. It worked the first time, well why not try three…gulp. Thankfully I was not a part of this oh so inconspicuous group of poor travelers. The first two made it through quite easily, as we had seen previously. However, the amiable Dan Maloof soon bore the brunt of Barcelona’s frugality. The two panels which had part like the Sea of Reeds for his predecessors crashed in on him as waves of water over Egyptian chariots…funny that he’s actually part Arabic too. I laughed. Then, to add to his shame, I saw that the doors in the aisle next to him were for one reason or another malfunctioning, thus wide open for anyone’s use. So I nonchalantly walked through, giving him a sinister little smirk as I eased by him. His reaction, his bruise, the whole event was such a scene from a movie. I’ll have to use it one day…if I ever make a movie…in a Barcelona metro.
Then the group split. The girls went to Park Guell, Gaudi’s masterpiece of a park, and Dan and I went to the Nou Camp—FC Barcelona’s stadium!!! It was pretty awesome to see it in person. Sadly we couldn’t go in without unloading a Euro or two, and it’s way out there in the city so it took us a lot longer than we thought. We tried to meet the girls at the Park, but no dice, as time was a factor. Instead we waited for them and split a tasty little baguette.
Tot el camp! [clap-clap-clap] és un clam [clap-clap-clap] som la gent blaugrana!!!
Then it started to rain, which put a damper in some of our plans. We still braved the journey to Montjuic – the site of the 1992 Olympics!!! Seeing the torch was most impressive, especially when Mary Kate recounted to me how it was lit. For those of you who forget or were too young, that year one Spain’s best athletes was an archer…so he stood in the middle of the Estadio Olimpico…and shot a flaming arrow into the center of the torch…pretty awesome. Google video it…it’s fantastic.
Nastia Liuken, Lebron James, Michael Johnson, Kobe Bryant, and Mia Hamm
Mass at the Cathedral was our next stop, and boy was it moving…here’s why. The Churches in Barcelona aren’t the prettiest. They’re certainly nice, but they all have this weird black stuff all over the ceilings and on the pillars…oh…that’s because the communists bombed and set them ablaze during the fighting at the beginning of the 20th century and in the Civil War. Many a priest, brother, and nun were martyred defending those Churches…defending their faith. It’s sad that the two sides of the war had to be communism and fascism, because naturally the Church would side with the fascists who not only wouldn’t bomb them, but offered them considerable protection…a decision which has created a serious backlash against the Church in our day. Sorry they didn’t want to get bombed…
Anyway, just looking up and seeing the residue of hate and ignorance was quite inspiring for this young Catholic. It reminded me of the constant need not only for forgiveness, but also for evangelization: spreading the message of love that transcends politics and ideologies. Gaudi’s statue of the would-be bomber looking towards Our Lady of the Rosary suddenly meant so much more to me. There was a realization that something like that could happen in our own day. How would I react? Would I lash out in irrational violence, would I cower in fear, or could I actually stand for love and truth in the name of God and Church? I have no idea. Hopefully that day will never come, but should it, God willing I’ll be ready.
Dinner after was tasty…but marred by a sneaky Catalán who thought stealing Melissa’s purse would be a good idea. Jerk. Thankfully she composed herself well and we got her in contact with her credit card company to cancel everything. Luckily, her passport was packed elsewhere. So no big losses, but trying to find the police station was no easy task…nor was finding the other station the man referred us to. The cop on duty wasn’t that helpful either. He just sat there nodding as Melissa told her story. He wasn’t going to do anything. He even said “If they’re good thieves they’ve already changed, so I can’t help you.” I appreciate the honesty, but at least try and cheer the girl up. Not the best moment to end your Barcelona trip on :-(
After that was a Metro ride to the bus station and an overnight ride home. After a nice chat about faith and all sorts of things with Flannery, we both eased back into our seats to get some rest.
All in all it was a crazy little two days. To say our moods could be charted on a sin-curve is an understatement. All weekend we oscillated between sheer silliness and utter frustration. I suppose that made for a very realistic trip though. We shouldn’t expect the best of times wherever we go…and sadly we can’t always expect to meet the nicest people. Seeing as no sneaky waiter, indifferent bus driver, or greedy pickpocket found a way to ruin our weekend, I’d say we’re in for a great semester. We have a Spirit of joy which cannot be quelled.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
An Entrepreneurial Spark
So I have no intention to switch into Mendoza (the Business school), but I do think I could make a pretty penny over here in Spain as a sandwich artisan. That’s right, a sandwich artisan. Sandwich making is neither for…the mild-hearted (I wonder how many people expected me to say ‘men’ there…it was tempting, I’m not gonna lie) nor the stoic. It requires both courage and passion to find the perfect combination of meats, cheeses, and veggies...and that’s only if you’re feeling tame.
As much as I love my Spanish cooking in all its paella-founded glory, I must say they receive quite low marks in the sandwich-making category. Their only contribution to this art is the bocadillo—a baguette with one meat (usually cold), occasionally some cheese, and rarely toasted. Really? That’s the best you can do, Spain? Yesterday at Fund (Foond) lunch, I, an amateur sandwichista at best, had the impulse to take one of the many pieces of bread they offer (I swear Jesus is back there miracling bread; they serve us so much!), dipped it in my primo concoction of oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper, then added a piece of their amazing Chicken Teriyaki. Bada bing-the best sandwich I’ve had since I’ve been here.
Don’t take me for a boaster (although it was so delish I made another after dessert), I’ve had better sandwiches, but not in Spain. Therefore, I am entertaining the notion of founding my own sandwich shop here in (not so) Sunny Spain. These hand-crafted gifts of love will involve some degree of creativity and certainly temperature contrasts, fundamental to the perfect sandwich. Interesting how well hot and cold complement each other, eh? Warm apple pie and ice cream? Toasted bread and cold cuts? Although warm all around works, too. The sandwich after all is one of the most heartwarming, besides convenient, meals that exist. Toasted baguette with lightly battered chicken, bacon, and swiss (← 5 pts. if you can name this sandwich)…money in my bank.
Who here thinks Villarina’s/Biksbees/Panera belongs in Spain? This guy. Who here thinks he should run said goldmine? Yea, me too.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Musical Recommendations
This has nothing to do with Spain, but with art, so in that sense it's infinitely more applicable to all our lives. I personally think you would all benefit from checking out these two sets of artists:
1) Harlem Shakes - Most of you know this my brother José's band, but for those of you who don't...well my bro is in a Brooklyn-based quintet...and they're pretty much awesome. Check out the Myspace for tunes and show listings: http://www.myspace.com/harlemshakes
Keep an eye out for Technicolor Health, their debut album...coming soon!
2) Arms - The solo project (I think?) of Shakes guitarist Todd Goldstein yields a wonderful collection of tunes. Check him out at myspace.com/armsongs
For a preview check this viedo out, cuz it's awesome!
1) Harlem Shakes - Most of you know this my brother José's band, but for those of you who don't...well my bro is in a Brooklyn-based quintet...and they're pretty much awesome. Check out the Myspace for tunes and show listings: http://www.myspace.com/harlemshakes
Keep an eye out for Technicolor Health, their debut album...coming soon!
2) Arms - The solo project (I think?) of Shakes guitarist Todd Goldstein yields a wonderful collection of tunes. Check him out at myspace.com/armsongs
For a preview check this viedo out, cuz it's awesome!
Monday, February 2, 2009
One Quiet Flicker
Hello hello family and friends, thought I'd try something new! I'm not a polished poet by any standard...my one success was a sonnet I wrote in AP English criticizing certain prominent American politicians...what a monster Mrs. Hartsburg has created!!!
Well, I just wanted to say hello and give a huge thanks to the lovely Kim Stoddard for taking the photo used here, for it is certainly the saving grace of the poem...thanks also to the magnanimous Ryan Caulfield for allowing her the use of his camera. Also, to make reading easier, click on the photo to open the full image...or maybe you're better off not ;-)
--Coming Soon!-- From Picasso to Fracaso - A Barcelona Tale
One Quiet FlickerWell, I just wanted to say hello and give a huge thanks to the lovely Kim Stoddard for taking the photo used here, for it is certainly the saving grace of the poem...thanks also to the magnanimous Ryan Caulfield for allowing her the use of his camera. Also, to make reading easier, click on the photo to open the full image...or maybe you're better off not ;-)
--Coming Soon!-- From Picasso to Fracaso - A Barcelona Tale
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Madrid Highlights
I think I've given a sufficient personal meditation on my trip to Madrid, but seeing as it was a three-day-long trip, here are some highlights! I unfortunately didn't get a picture of the guy who tried to pick-pocket me after the Real Madrid game, but thankfully Andrea caught on to his game early. Sucker. And don't worry Barca fans, I wore red, blue, and yellow to the Bernabéu. It wasn't flashy or obvious, but it was my way of sticking it to them Madristas.
Actually this one is from Toledo, but I think all persons who knew me when I was a kiddie will recognize how amazing this is. We used to have an elephant slide in our basement back in the day, so when I saw this at the park, despite the kitty-litter box that was this playground, I had re-encounter my childhood! Mission Accomplished!
"So all the people took off their earrings and brought them to Aaron,who accepted their offering, and fashioning this gold with a graving tool, made a molten calf. Then they cried out, 'This is your God, O Israel, who brought you out of the land of Egypt' (Ex. 32: 3-4). Gotta love the Bible joke ;-) [Laura stop tapping your nose!]
Gabi, Mary Kate, and I clubbing at Kapital, one of Madrid's hotspots. The dude on the left looks like Stephen Eckart.
Actually this one is from Toledo, but I think all persons who knew me when I was a kiddie will recognize how amazing this is. We used to have an elephant slide in our basement back in the day, so when I saw this at the park, despite the kitty-litter box that was this playground, I had re-encounter my childhood! Mission Accomplished!
"So all the people took off their earrings and brought them to Aaron,who accepted their offering, and fashioning this gold with a graving tool, made a molten calf. Then they cried out, 'This is your God, O Israel, who brought you out of the land of Egypt' (Ex. 32: 3-4). Gotta love the Bible joke ;-) [Laura stop tapping your nose!]
Gabi, Mary Kate, and I clubbing at Kapital, one of Madrid's hotspots. The dude on the left looks like Stephen Eckart.
Gabi, Courtney, and I displaying mad hops in the center of Madrid. I like the little triangle of knees we make. Well planned, team!
I was in a very hoppy/Gene Kelly mood that day.
And after a long day...a delicious meal at local spot in a sketchy alley. Love me some Spain.
After Real Madrid's boring 1-0 victory over Deportivo. We had an awesome time though...so worth waking up at 530 Monday morning to get back to Toledo by 830 for class...¡Viva Barcelona!
The Bully of the Neighborhood - John George Brown - Probably my favorite painting from the Thyssen. Everyone's color seems to match their emotions. Bully's in black, Clenched Fist in red, Tears in blue, Plotter in an army fatigue color, Pacifist and baby in white. Thought I'd share :-)
And after a long day...a delicious meal at local spot in a sketchy alley. Love me some Spain.
After Real Madrid's boring 1-0 victory over Deportivo. We had an awesome time though...so worth waking up at 530 Monday morning to get back to Toledo by 830 for class...¡Viva Barcelona!
The Bully of the Neighborhood - John George Brown - Probably my favorite painting from the Thyssen. Everyone's color seems to match their emotions. Bully's in black, Clenched Fist in red, Tears in blue, Plotter in an army fatigue color, Pacifist and baby in white. Thought I'd share :-)
Barcelona this weekend and then the Basque country the week after. Prayers for safe travel please. ¡Que Dios os bendiga!
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