"Que las tartas sean dulces, Cádiz!"

My last week in Cádiz has flown by, and it’s hard to believe it’s already Saturday! Cruz Roja has definitely kept me busy, and I got to work in several different programs, which was a wonderful experience. I am definitely going to miss my half hour walk to work on the beach every morning, and, of course, all of the wonderful people at Cruz Roja. Here is a brief overview of my weekly duties:

Monday: In the morning, I worked under a program called MEINAS (MEnores Inmigrantes No AcompañadoS). This program takes information from all of the unaccompanied minor immigrants who arrive here in Cádiz and works to help them find work, shelter, etc. For me, however, it meant more paperwork, as I only had to copy data about each immigrant and consolidate it into one paper. Most of the immigrants were Moroccans between 17 and 19 years old. After experiencing the stress of travelling around Europe all summer, I cannot even begin to imagine what it would take to leave your family and move to another country where you literally know no one. In the afternoon, I worked on math worksheets with the mayores.

Tuesday: I followed the same schedule as Monday: MEINAS in the morning for an hour, followed by the mayores, who were working on “fichas lectoescrituras” today.

Wednesday: I went to the pediatric ward in the Cádiz hospital today. I helped some other volunteers in the ludoteca, which is like a playroom for the sick kids. Kids are kids in any country, so there weren’t many surprises here.

Thursday: I sat in on Spanish classes for immigrants. There were only two students today: Mohammed, an elderly man from Mauritania and Alice, a middle-aged lady from Madagascar. This was probably one of my favorite days. Although it was difficult to understand Mohammed’s thick, Arabic accent, our teacher, Paco, translated between American- and Arabic-accented Spanish. Mohammed has only been attending classes for a week, and is trying to learn the Latin alphabet, after writing in Arabic for his entire life. I have to say, I admire his fortitude, because after being there for only a week he had begun to scratch out legible little figures, and was trying his hardest to write from left to right. Like most things in Spain, the two hours turned into more of a story time than a class. I learned a few phrases and Cádiz words from Paco, as well.

Friday: I went to my last taller de mayores in the morning, and returned at 8:00 pm to go out with UMES (Unidad Móvil de Emergencia Social). UMES brings food, drinks, blankets, hygienic products, etc. to the homeless people in Cádiz. Today, we were just delivering sandwiches and juice boxes. Our driver, another volunteer, and I loaded the bocatas up in the back of the van, and drove around town for the next three hours locating the homeless people, writing down their names and information, and handing out food and the occasional hygiene kit.

And thus concludes my Cruz Roja adventures here in Cádiz. Today will be spent straightening out my mess of a bus ticket and getting ready to head out tomorrow. It’s hard to believe that in just 48 hours, I will be packed into the plane in Madrid, and about to take off for America! After 11 weeks, my European adventure is finally drawing to a close. But for now, I’m off to enjoy my last full day in Cádiz. As a homeless guy so adequately said to me last night: “Que lo pases bien y que las tartas sean dulces.” (Have a good time and may the cakes be sweet!)

Cadiz, Otra Vez

                Here I am, back in Cádiz for the home stretch. After surviving our two, month-long programs with nearly seven hours of class each day, I don’t know what to do with myself and all of this extra time. Living in Spain without an “eccentric” professor and a host family that ignores your existence and feeds you hot dogs is another experience entirely. It feels more like I’m staying at my grandma’s beach house for vacation, except speaking Spanish all the time. Yesterday was the first time I went the entire day without speaking any English at all… quite the accomplishment.

                My new host family is an elderly couple, Gloria Oliva and her husband Paco. They are the nicest people, and thank goodness, like to make actual Spanish food. They have two grown children, Irené and Javier. Irené and her husband, Manolo, have two sons, Manuel (3) and Javi (7 mo.), and live in Cádiz as well, close to the Red Cross where I work. Irené is a social worker, and I’m not sure what Manolo does, but since they both work all morning, but Gloria stays at home and babysits her grandchildren. After I get home from work, I am always greeted by, “Toma! Toma el niño! Voy a preparar la comida.” I usually spend the next hour or so watching Javi while Gloria makes his lunch.

                In the morning, I work at la Cruz Roja Española, in el taller de mayores. This workshop works with elderly people who, for one reason or another, never had the opportunity to learn how to read and write. We work on worksheets (“fichas”) with them and play memory games some days. They all like to talk a lot, and I have definitely been getting lots of practice understanding the various thick, Andalucian accents. I have also been roped into working in “formación” for a few hours. The girl who is in charge of me,  águeda, describes formación as “un trabajo feo”. It essentially involves organizing the mounds of volunteer paperwork that la Cruz Roja is inundated with.

                Besides volunteering, babysitting, and eating Gloria’s delicious cooking, I have been spending the rest of my time either walking on the beach or sleeping. I guess I would probably be doing about the same things if I was back home in St. Augustine, so I’m not too beat up about staying these extra two weeks. Yesterday, there was another fiesta: my 3^rd in the month and a half I’ve been in Cádiz. Spaniards don’t miss an excuse to party. We walked down to a bar to meet Irené’s family and celebrate for a little while, and it was nearly impossible to plow through the crowd that had congregated. The beach was so packed, I could not see any sand beneath the covering of people. Every now and then, a collective groan or cheer would arise, following whatever was happening in the Carranza cup soccer game. The normally twenty minute walked took nearly twice that long. This year, August 6^th was the day to celebrate el Trofeo Carranza, and las barbacoas. Each year in Cádiz, there is a big soccer game for the Carranza cup. During the game, pretty much the entire city camps out on the beach and barbecues to celebrate summer. Usually, each family, work group, team, etc. has a barbacoa, and people spend the night following the soccer game, eating, and drinking.

                Gloria and I went to mass this morning, which was a little easier to follow since it was a fairly small church without much resonance. I actually understood which reading it was this week, even over the continual clack-clack-clack of dozens of fans cooling all the little old ladies. I ran out of books to read, and I’m not sure what I’m going to do at the beach now. Oh, the dilemmas! I now have exactly one week left in Spain, and then it will be back to reality.

La Aventura de Italia

This is being posted a little late, but this blog is from Tuesday, August 2^nd.

-----

                I have heard over and over again what a beautiful place Italy is… and after spending the past five days there, I can only agree wholeheartedly with these rumors. Incredible food, abounding history, a beautiful language, and cheerful people: what more can you ask for? I am so overwhelmed by the artistic prowess that I witnessed in the last few days that I am still trying to absorb all of the gorgeous sights that we visited. Here is a brief itinerary of everything that we managed to cram in since Thursday:

Thursday: We flew into the airport in Pisa, checked into our hostel, and received our first taste of Italy. It was like walking into a photograph: musicians in the streets, tastefully designed balconies filled with flowers, gelato on every corner, and, of course, the scent of sweet, salty air. We instantly set out to find the famed Leaning Tower of Pisa, and had no trouble in doing so. After taking our cliché holding-up-the-tower pictures, we discovered that you could still climb the tower. A couple hours and several euros later, I found myself standing in the very location where Galileo performed his legendary gravitational experiments.

Friday: We arrived in Florence by train. I couldn’t remember why exactly Florence was important, but I did know that I had read its name in my history books a thousand times. Luckily, our very own personal “tour guide”, Soleil, conveniently had her guide-to-Italy book. I was quickly reminded that Florence was considered the birthplace of the Italian renaissance. For the next two days, I found myself absolutely inundated with art.

Saturday: We went to lots of art museums, including the one housing Donatello’s “David”, the one which contains Michelangelo’s “David”, and the Uffizi. We also visited the Medici Chapel and the Cathedral de San Lorenzo.

Sunday: After another train ride through the picturesque Italian countryside, the “Eternal City” suddenly loomed just beyond the window. I cannot begin to count the number of times I have heard reference to Rome, whether it be for historical, artistic, or religious purposes. But not until I arrived there did I fully comprehend what an incredible influence this one city has had on the entire world throughout the ages. From the Roman Empire to Pope John Paul II, I still cannot fathom the events that the city has witnessed. Because we had arrived after museums and sites had either closed or become too engulfed in lines of tourists, we elected to do our “scenic tour” for the rest of the day. We visited the Trevi Fountain (I even spared a coin, because Rome is definitely somewhere I hope to return to), the Pantheon, and the Spanish Steps.

Monday: Around 6 a.m., we began our search for the Vatican. We were the second group in line once we arrived there at 7. Immediately after entering, I bee-lined for the Sistine Chapel. As I walked through the door, my jaw fell open, and remained that way until I exited. It was the most spectacular series of paintings I have ever seen. In all honesty, I expected Michelangelo’s “Genesis” to hold the spotlight. But as I stared at the scenes which covered every square inch of the lofty room, it stood out no more than any other scene; such was the level of extravagancy. Afterwards, we visited the Vatican museum, which contained several fascinating exhibits, my personal favorite of which consisted of donations from Australian aborigines to their “Papa” in Rome. After staring in awe at all of the wonders of the Vatican for a couple of hours, we briefly toured St. Peter’s Basilica, where we saw the original Pietà, as well as the final resting place of Pope John Paul II. Although I have seen dozens of cathedrals during my months in Spain, this one was different. Naturally, it was much more historically and artistically rich, but beyond that, this actually felt like a church, a connection to my own life. As our group roamed around the walls, I noticed a door to the side with a curtain and a guard. Naturally, everyone was curious until they found out that it was “only a room for prayer”. Hoping to atone for my lack of mass attendance the day before, I entered the room. It was filled with gold accents, and exquisitely decorated, but this seemed to go unnoticed by its inhabitants. Every head in there was bent, with eyes squeezed shut, hands clenched, and lips twitching in silent prayer. It was an overwhelming experience, to be here, surrounded by all of these other people who were deep in prayer, and feet away from the head of our church. I fell to my knees and joined them, and remained there for the rest of our visit. After the Vatican, we took the metro to the Coliseum. I only had time to see the outside of it before heading for the airport, and beginning the long journey back to Madrid and then Cadiz.

                I generally have a very short attention span, and don’t usually appreciate art all that much. Cádiz was full of old things, but it always seemed like St. Augustine could beat it any day. And Madrid was just a little too urbanized for me. But for some reason, the history and art from Italy completely struck me, and I feel like I could spend weeks learning about it and never get bored. For some reason, I never grew jaded towards the beautiful Florentine and Roman art and architecture, the brainchildren of so many great names. I guess before Italy, I never really saw a point to art. It just seemed to me like a collection of a bunch of dead people’s talents. And of course, there was always that modern art piece that makes you think, “A two-year-old could do that!” As I wandered through room after room of priceless art in Florence, however, I stumbled upon a painting of yet another woman, this time accompanied by two grimacing little devil things, one of which poked its tongue through a contorted smile. I wanted to laugh at the absurd creature, but held it in, thinking this inappropriate for an art collection so extravagant. Moments later, however, another couple entered, and burst out laughing. It was then that I had my revelation.

                Art is meant to make people feel. It is supposed to solicit an emotional response that does not have to be cultivated and first worked through the brain’s conscious regions. It should not be something that people are forced to “interpret” and write volumes about. And it most certainly was not intended to being confined to just painting, sculpting, drawing, etc. I can honestly say that I have felt so much more from driving down a dirt road listening to country music in a beat up truck than I will ever feel from looking at priceless modern art in La Reina Sofia museum, but I guess that’s ok. People are not the same, and obviously our responses to certain stimuli aren’t going to be the same. So whether you are a dancer, poet, blogger, or famous Italian Renaissance painter, I am sure that somewhere out there, there is someone who would like to thank you for your invaluable contributions to the artistic community, and thank you for making us feel.