A Few more Chapters

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Much to write about since the last one!
To begin with, I´m going to push a few exhilarating buttons on this keyboard, just because I can´t type them at home. € º ñ · ¬
Okay, anyway..

CADIZ Y JEREZ DE LA FRONTERA
We took a bus trip a couple weekends ago with the school to Cádiz, the most ancient city still standing in western Europe, founded by Phoenicians. It is a coastal province with over 100 towers to watch for incoming ships, so we were able to take in a great view of all the white-washed houses. While in the tower we viewed a "cámara oscura", a white circular concave "screen" in a dark room that functioned like a pinhole camera, as the lens was rotated to show a "live" , panoramic image of the surroundings.(At a surprisingly high resolution) I felt a little creepy spying on people from a dark little chamber. Later we ate lunch on the beach of La Caleta, which was actually filmed in the beginning of James Bond´s "Die Another Day". With tiny fishing boats hauled onto shore, and a castle in the background it was very picturesque.

Known for its sherry wine, we arrived in Jerez de la Frontera. We were given a tour of a the bodega , or winery, Tio Pepe. During the tour we saw a glass of wine with a little ramp leading up to its rim, sitting in one of the passageways of the cellar beside a plate of cheese. Our guide stopped us and we watched a little mouse scurry up and indulge itself. Apparently years and years ago one of the owners saw one enjoying the products of his winery; so began the tradition of setting up a glass of wine and a plate of cheese each day for the mice in the cellar. (A bit too bubonic for me. )

We were set at tables for tasting at the end of the tour when my imagined sophistication at a european winery came to a dramatic halt. After I delicately raised the glass to my lips, I INdelicately raised my eyebrows while I tried to control my upper lip quiverering in disgust. I managed to drink the whole glass in an attempt to "acquire" the taste, with no successful results. They had served us Fino, the dryest and palest of all sherries, and I could not figure out why they would actually put on the label "..pungent aroma", It was most likely flavored with one of the little rodents scurrying about their establishment. I left with a discouraged palette and zero likelihood of being an aficionado.

THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE
I had spent the last couple of days burnt out from Spanish, becoming more and more frustrated before I went off to my first flamenco guitar lesson. I had selected the teacher based on a long day of walking around town comparing prices (and knocking on wrong doors at least half of the time.) During my lesson the floors and walls were shaking from the pounding of the students learning to dance in the other room. It was a very full hour! While he furiously scribbled on the tablature, I stared at my teachers gold bracelet, hairy wrist, and the bright red end of his pencil, thinking how lovely it was to finally be able to clearly and definitely understand what a spaniard was communicating to me. I left feeling refreshed and having a second wind of the spanish language. Flamenco is definitely a different technique. My teacher actually made fun of me, since I am used to a more subtle classical style when plucking the strings, and he mandated a technique a bit more fiery. I don´t think my current strings are going to last very long...

PILGRIMAGE TO FATIMA
Last friday at midnight I boarded a bus with my friends Elizabeth and Anneli bound for Fatima, Portugal. We didn´t get much sleep, as we were living vicariosly through a few lithuanians who had just spent ten days in Morocco. When we arrived in Fatima it was rainy, cold, and much too early. After a good laugh at a bus that was driving through the most ridiculous looking car wash (Two vertical 15-foot rotating sponge brushes), we grabbed a bite from our stuffed-to-the-brim-with-anything-edible backpacks before we attempted to navigate the map that we forgot to bring.

We went to a wax museum that told the whole story of the 3 shepherd children, Jacinta, Francisco, and Lucia, from the moment they first experienced their divine apparitions, to the miracle of the "day the sun danced", and the years afterward when Pope John Paul II made his visit to the little chapel of apparitions.

We were excited to see a sign for English confessions, since any attempt in spanish could result in heavy penances from unfortunate conjugation. An old retired english priest was leaving right when we arrived, saying he had to say mass "in the village", and he invited us along. We followed him and another young portuguese boy who had him by the arm, as we discovered that he was blind. We ended up in a tiny chapel in a random building. He gave confessions there, and afterwards we sat and listened as the portuguese boy read all the readings for the day, and the gospel, into a small tape recorder. The interaction was interesting, a heavily accented young reader with utmost obedience to his elder. -stop tape- "Now what did you just say?" "con-FORT-able". "Now what is that?" "CONE-fort-able." "Oh I think I know what you are trying to say. Are you ready?" "Yes." The priest had one earphone in to give the mass, and during the homily he was slightly facing the wall more than the congregration (which ended up being only us and the boy.) Needless to say we all agreed later that it was a very beautiful experience. Although we didn´t go to one of the more "famed" places in Fatima for mass we enjoyed our humble service, especially when thinking of the humility of the children that made Fatima what it was in the first place.

The priest recommended that we walk the stations of the cross in an area that showed what Fatima "used to be like." Surrounded by olive trees we walked down to areas that were marked as where an angel appeared to the children and one of the marian sites. My favorite was the angel site as it was tucked away and had gorgeous white statues(plus it just smelled really good in that area) Then we walked to the houses of Lucia and her cousins Francisco and Jacinta. The houses were very plain and tiny. The beds made my back hurt just looking at them. When Francisco had died very young, he pointed at the window and exclaimed he was seeing a bright light. It was very cool to go in the room and see the window from the story. An old man with bright blue eyes was standing in the main room and telling everyone that he was Francisco´s nephew, I couldn´t decide whether or not I believed him!

We also went through a museum of things donated and dedicated to The Lady of Fatima. This included a huge gold and ornate monstrance from Ireland, and tons of gold and ruby and stones from all over the world. The crown which is placed on the statue of Mary in the little chapel of apparitions on the first Saturday of the month is kept here. Right below the top of the crown is the bullet from the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II. He dedicated it to the Lady of Fatima, crediting his survival to her specifically. When the bullet was placed into the crown, no modifications were made whatsoever. The crown which had been made years before had a hole perfectly the size of the bullet.

After seeing the inside of the beautiful basilica, and the tombs of the children, we got back on the bus for the 2nd night in a row.

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