I spent one week in Spain in December. I went there, like I went to Athens, barely knowing a thing about the country. I'm not sure how it's possible, being around anarchists, reading the news, knowing some things about twentieth century history. I even read For Whom the Bell Tolls on my own at the end of high school, though I found it monotonous, like a lot of Hemingway. I don't know how I was fortunate enough to have friends to visit in Greece AND Spain, where seeds of revolution have been planted for so long and not actually know a thing until I got there.
But this is not a post about bitter lament. This post is about Spain. I finally got around to reading Homage to Catalonia, which I'm about halfway through now. On the drive between the Zamora-area countryside and Vigo, I was tired from travelling but still totally fascinated by the stories of Irati's father. Apparently, back in the 70s, he and her mother were dedicated Marxists. He was telling me all about Anarchists during the Civil War and suggested I read this book. I'm glad I'm reading it now, late as it is. Orwell is a gift to the English language and all of human literature. I'm actually quite in awe of how a person who spent only 47 years on this Earth could have experienced so much and graciously left it with the rest of us bystanders.
I'm not going to go as far as saying that I regret not sticking to Spanish as I had planned and tried and not applying for the Spain assistantship. I am merely saying that when I can catch bits and pieces of real understanding, I feel lucky and privileged.
OK so this is not entirely about Spain. More to come.
***
I finished the book. Orwell's gift for language also extends to his ability to write so much in so few pages.
Back to Spain, where I started 2011. Some of the most beautiful views, captured more deeply in my memory than in these images:
After meeting Marine at CCL, the way we really connected was through our tiny Spanish class at the Union Française de Jeunesse, which I took seriously for quite some time. There was one point in Spain where I had to dig up my Spanish skills, just to communicate with the family. I imagined the possibility of applying to be a teaching assistant in Spain and now I'm wondering if that wouldn't have been a good choice. But that's not my journey right now. That is Rebecca's journey.
I also had imagined going to the Primavera Festival in Barcelona at the end of May, to see Pulp together on stage for the first time in 10 years. I had so many ideas of going back to Spain, after just one week of being there. Amazing how much can happen in one week. There was even a Korean girl there, and already then I was laying the foundation for the idea of teaching in Korea.
Irati told me about this farm, run by French people. I wanted to go there and help out over the summer too. Spain, why did I abandon you?
But this is not a post about bitter lament. This post is about Spain. I finally got around to reading Homage to Catalonia, which I'm about halfway through now. On the drive between the Zamora-area countryside and Vigo, I was tired from travelling but still totally fascinated by the stories of Irati's father. Apparently, back in the 70s, he and her mother were dedicated Marxists. He was telling me all about Anarchists during the Civil War and suggested I read this book. I'm glad I'm reading it now, late as it is. Orwell is a gift to the English language and all of human literature. I'm actually quite in awe of how a person who spent only 47 years on this Earth could have experienced so much and graciously left it with the rest of us bystanders.
I'm not going to go as far as saying that I regret not sticking to Spanish as I had planned and tried and not applying for the Spain assistantship. I am merely saying that when I can catch bits and pieces of real understanding, I feel lucky and privileged.
OK so this is not entirely about Spain. More to come.
***
I finished the book. Orwell's gift for language also extends to his ability to write so much in so few pages.
Back to Spain, where I started 2011. Some of the most beautiful views, captured more deeply in my memory than in these images:
Baoina, Galicia
After meeting Marine at CCL, the way we really connected was through our tiny Spanish class at the Union Française de Jeunesse, which I took seriously for quite some time. There was one point in Spain where I had to dig up my Spanish skills, just to communicate with the family. I imagined the possibility of applying to be a teaching assistant in Spain and now I'm wondering if that wouldn't have been a good choice. But that's not my journey right now. That is Rebecca's journey.
I also had imagined going to the Primavera Festival in Barcelona at the end of May, to see Pulp together on stage for the first time in 10 years. I had so many ideas of going back to Spain, after just one week of being there. Amazing how much can happen in one week. There was even a Korean girl there, and already then I was laying the foundation for the idea of teaching in Korea.
Irati told me about this farm, run by French people. I wanted to go there and help out over the summer too. Spain, why did I abandon you?
No comments:
Post a Comment