La Primavera Ha Venido -- Spanish Springtime

While teaching first grade yesterday I found this poem on the homeroom teacher's desk. I smiled because I had studied it in one of my Spanish literature classes in college. The poet is an Andalucian writer, Antonio Machado. For those who don't know Spanish, this specific poem is about the coming of spring in March. I feel lucky to be able to actually see what had inspired his words here in Andalucia right now.

While my Minnesota self was lucky to spend one winter away from constant snow, ice and car towing catastrophes on the beaches of Southern Spain, I have become weak. I wear a jacket when it's 60 degrees out and the rest of my new weaknesses I am too ashamed to share. Either way, spring has come here, and no matter what the location is in the world, it just seems to happen one day, which is why I love this poem.

The first two lines compose an extremely popular Spanish saying which translates to:

"Spring has come
Nobody knows how"

I challenge the rest of you to check out the entire poem in Spanish.

La Primavera

La primavera ha venido.

Nadie sabe cómo ha sido.
La primavera ha venido.
¡Aleluyas blancas
de los zarzales floridos!

Nubes, sol, prado verde y caserío
en la loma, revueltos. Primavera
puso en el aire de este campo frío
la gracia de sus chopos de ribera
Los caminos del valle van al río
y allí, junto al agua, amor espera

Tejidos sois de primavera,amantes,
de tierra y agua y viento y sol tejidos.
La sierra en vuestros ojos los campos florecidos,
pasead vuestra mutua primavera,
y aún bebed sin temor la dulce leche
que os brida hoy la lúbrica pantera,
antes que, torva, en el camino aceche.

Tú y yo, silenciosamente,
trabajamos , compañera,
en esta noche de marzo,
hilo a hilo, letra a letra
¡con cuánto amor! mientras duerme
el campo de primavera

La primavera besaba
suavemente la arboleda,
y el verde nuevo brotaba
como una verde humareda.
Las nubes iban pasando
sobre el campo juvenil...

-- Antonio Machado

I'm going to the beach now.

Kenzie Shea

Morocco. Part I.

I have always wanted to be picked up at the airport by a driving escort. Being a 23 year-old penny traveler, I didn't think that this would happen anytime soon. Don't get me wrong, I would rather be greeted by hugs and smiles from loved ones. But come on, doesn't everyone want to see their name on one of those signs just one time at the gate? Well, this small dream of mine finally came true in Marrakech, Morocco when Liz and I were picked up at the airport. Ironically, a half hour later I was in a location far from having a personal driver.

As our taxi driver drove Liz and I from the airport into the red walls of the inner city (called the Medina) of Marrakech, I gazed out the window at a landscape and cityscape that seemed to appear from magic. It could have been the antibiotics I was on from the strep throat I was battling, but I was tripping out on where such a short flight on two connecting flights could bring me. Insert travel love here. Liz and I decided a long time ago that a large portion of our travel funds was going to go towards an intensive trip to Morocco. We got what we planned on our seven day vacation.

Marrakesh Medina

Shortly after we entered the walls of the city that seemed to barricade the hectic heartbeat of life in the Medina, our taxi driver stopped the car. We were on a dirt road in the middle of a market, being beckoned out of the car in a combination of Arab and French. I swear five mopeds wizzed by within seconds of stepping out of the car. Everyone has a moped there, and no street is too busy, small or off limits to drive on. The driver took our suitcases out and an older man in a worn suit, slightly dusted in the brown dirt that seems to hang in the city from covering the side roads, greeted him with the customary kisses on the cheek. The older man grabbed our suitcases and threw them in a wooden wheelbarrow sitting next to him. Our smiling taxi driver waved goodbye and before I could get out any form of money to pay him, the man with the wheelbarrow nodded in a direction to us and started walking. We realized we should probably follow him. So, we did.

This man defined the meaning of "barreled" as he ushered himself through the foot traffic of the Medina(get it...wheel barrow?) Ya, lame joke, I know. I couldn't resist. I can remember this walk so vividly because the change of location and culture for us happened so quickly. The hordes of the city's Muslim inhabitants (about 99% of the country's population is Muslim) shuffle around one another and the random tourist in this fast-paced, almost over-stimulating environment filled with Arabic, French and the sound of mosque's loudspeakers calling everyone to prayer. Aside from that, the new smells of the third world city combined with the bright and intoxicating colors of the pottery, scarves, fresh herbs and incense that line the streets can overwhelm upon one's first moments.

I knew I was in an exotic place at that moment as I made my way through the winding streets of Marrakech, following a random man with my suitcases. For me, this was paradise. I love being overwhelmed and over-stimulated by new sights, smells and foreign languages. I couldn't ask for a better environment. It is safe to say that I am addicted to the new. I think this can be one of the most dangerous addictions as life is a constant search for new stimulation, which isn't always what life is about with the whole responsibilities aspect. I think I'll always strive for both. However, I haven't found any rehab programs for addictions to "the new". You know my E-mail if you do.

Anyways, as we wound through the small streets, we found ourselves in smaller, less populated roads, only able to fit a moped or well, wheel-barrow. Liz and I both looked at each other nervously as we bumbled down the tiny roads. Even though the man didn't speak English, neither of us said anything. The man stopped at a dead end in front of an old door and after knocking and being greeted by the owner of our riad, I attempted to tip the man who had literally pushed our suitcases for a mile in a wheel barrow.

Rooftop terrace at our riad

This was quite comical as I didn't exactly have a grasp on the tipping customs in Morocco, something I kicked myself for in the moment for not researching before the trip. More importantly, I didn't know which coins and bills were what as new currencies always seem to be Monopoly money. The task of converting their value to Euros always becomes easy, but not within in the first hour of a country. If you didn't know, Moroccan currency is called Dirham. So I just stared down at my newly exchanged Dirham that seemed like I should use to put a hotel on Broadway or Park Place. I waited for a feeling, or just something, anything, to come to me to decide how much to tip. Nothing. I'm pretty sure I tipped him the equivalent of 50 cents, but I kind of blacked out what I actually handed him as I tend to do that when I get extremely nervous. Either way, the man was not content. Luckily our riad owner, a British man about 30 years-old, had money on him and helped us out. Embarrassing situation where I want to kill myself #1 out of the way in the first hour there. Success. I'm very good at this.

After some peach tea in the beautiful terrace of our riad and an hour of conversation with our new 30 year-old British friend, Liz and I were ready for dinner. In Morocco, you can opt to stay in a riad, which is a refurbished traditional Moroccan home, rather than a hotel. Because it's a home, they are usually situated in typical neighborhoods in the middle of the city. Ours was absolutely amazing. The traditional architecture and ambiance of these homes is unlike any hotel you could possibly stay in. I will take authentic culture over tourist fake any day.

Traditional Moroccan fresh mint tea and sweets

Our riad owner was also a skateboarder, so he offered to show us to the main square on his way to board with his Moroccan friends for the night. After being dropped off in Marrakesh's main square, Djemma el Fna, Liz and I found a restaurant with an indescribable view. We ordered some couscous (traditional Moroccan cuisine), freshly squeezed orange juice and and watched in awe as the sky turned to a deep red behind the shadows of the palm trees and the Atlas Mountains in the distance. To finish we had the traditional mint tea and looked down as the Marrakesh's most busy area bustled below us with snake charmers, mopeds, and locals walking to the nearest mosque to pray after the loudspeakers called all to prayer.

Djemaa el Fna

As you can see, I have so much love for this city. During our trip, Liz and I spent four days staying here, navigating our ways through the maze of streets. The unceasing noise and movement of the city is addictive, and while I can't say I wasn't grabbed or hassled by anyone during my time there, the majority of people were so unbelievably friendly, kind and helpful. I have full intentions of writing about the city and sites we visited as well as our trip to the mountains and desert, but it's too much for one blog.

Besos,

Kenz

People have a way of blinking and missing the moment.

I'm not sure what you do when you get excited about life, but I go running. That probably explains why I have spent the last three sunsets running on the beach. If you didn't know, I spent the last week in Morocco, navigating my way through the spice filled streets of Marrakech as well as the country's mountains, desert and small African villages. I haven't felt this full of life and inspired in so long. Even after my long runs on the beach I literally have had a hard time sleeping because I am looking forward to the next day. I've went to bed the last few nights and have had trouble drifting to sleep. After I finally allow myself, I wake up an hour before my alarm in excitement for the next day.

I know. It's kind of sickening to hear. However, I have had times in my life where I have used sleep as the cure for my problems as it can bring peace for a short time when nothing seems to be going right. But this is not one of those times in my life, and I am going to take advantage of it, treasure it, and remember this feeling in hopes that I always feel this way and can recall it when I need to.

I have such a better outlook and attitude about taking advantage and making the most of my last 3 months here. I love feeling motivated.






Before Morocco, I had fallen into a slump here in Spain. My work and private lessons schedule was my life and I was in the exact definition of a rut. OK, I'm in a foreign country communicating in a foreign language everyday, obviously I wasn't in a rut. I was skiing in amazing mountain ranges, hiking with Spanish friends and going out to tapas all of the time. I guess it would be correct to say that my mentality was in a rut. Everything seemed so normal here. Aside from my life functioning in Spanish, these Spanish people and their customs of greeting with two kisses, putting umbrellas in trashcans, saying hello every time you enter a room, eating dinner at 10:30 p.m., and smothering every form of food in olive oil all seemed like normal life. Exactly how life passes. Nothing odd or out of the ordinary. Because I felt everything was so normal, I wasn't pushing myself mentally like I always try to do. I don't think the fact that I got the flu one week, recovered, and then got the worst case of strep throat I have very gotten with a horrible fever and hallucinations the next week really helped. Either way, my abroad mentality that constantly challenges cultural norms and life ideas had checked out for a while.

BUT...

I happily can say that after my Morocco trip my mentality is back and more prevalent than ever. It was so refreshing being without internet, phones, television or technology for a whole week. I need to go without it more often. I always forget how much more I like life that way. I was able to quiet all of the crazy things in the world out of my mind and really enjoy the moment for what it is.

If you know me you know I'm a moment person. I believe in the power of the moment and feeling it for all that it genuinely is. Some moments you share with others and some you always just have for yourself. Either way, I think it's easy to forget the power of moments and get caught up in the past and future.

My trip with Liz to Morocco was just what I needed. I needed to be reminded of the power of the moment. Without technology, all that we did all week was really enjoy moments and real conversations with each other and strangers. On our trip we were lucky to meet so many other travelers from all different parts of the world. Without technology and distractions, all that you want to do is sit down and really connect, maybe learn something new from someone from a totally different culture. They are new friends now, not strangers. Even though I might not see them again, it's almost scary how we will always have the memories of our amazing trips with each other.

Sitting in the Sahara Desert watching the sunset over the dunes away from all forms of technology and distractions made me slow down with worrying about things in the future or past. As I looked up at the purest, most breathtaking view of the stars at our camp in the desert that night away from any form of light pollution I wasn't thinking about my job search when I get home or one of the many small worries I have. All that you are left with is yourself and the opportunity to enjoy the moment for what it is. I can't say that I had exactly forgotten about taking advantage of moments, I just needed to be reminded of their power.


One of my biggest pet peeves in the United States is when I sit down with someone out to eat at a restaurant or with a group of friends and I see someone reach to put their cell phone on the table. I can't say that I have never done it, although it has always bothered me. But if I said that I never had, that would be a lie. However, I am going to try to not do it again. The opportunity to sit down and enjoy a meal and real conversation, to really connect and enjoy time with loved ones, is precious. It was just extremely nice to be reminded of the value of communicating and connecting. You learn so much more from people when neither of you are distracted.

So, I guess that's my two cents after my trip. I have a free afternoon tomorrow, so I'll attempt to write something more fun to read about Morocco on what we actually did. Better than MacKenzie's thoughts on life. Promise promise.

Besos,

Kenz