More Braver Than Me (Or Something Like That)

"So where are you going for Semana Santa?" Juan Javier asked.
"Well, first my mom flies into Sevilla, and we'll spend a few days there. After that, we're going to Rome, Paris, and London...and then back here to Antilla!"
"All during Semana Santa?" he asked.
"Yes, yes! Well, it will be during Semana Santa and a few days after since I don't have to work on Mondays or Tuesdays."
"But still...!" he exlaimed. His eyes were huge in wonder. "You are more....valiant? Yes, valiant?"
"Valiant?" I asked. That couldn't be the right adjective he was looking for.
"Crazy?" I said while laughing. To a Spaniard, our travel plans might seem a bit overwhelming -- lots of traveling, lots of places....very American-esque. :)
"Valiant, yes!" He shouted!" Leaning in he said "You Americans are like that. You are more braver than me!"

Call it brave, call it crazy -- but it's what Mom and I are doing for Semana Santa, and I am so unbelievably excited! Mom arrives THIS Friday around 1pm, and Oti has graciously allowed me to take the day off so that I can meet Mom at the airport. :) As mentioned, we will be traveling all around to lots of places and seeing so many things -- I am so incredibly excited about this opportunity to see more of the world, but more than anything, I am thrilled to be spending time with my amazing mother. :) Please pray safe travel, fun memories, and lots of joy for us -- and I certainly am praying all of the same for you!

Can't wait to blog all about it in a few weeks! Until then....in the words of Juan Javier, be more braver! :)

Un besito,
Brittany

A (Spanish) Birthday Story

Walking home from the bank, my cell rings.
"Hey honey! I got your e-mail saying that you got your birthday package, and I just wanted to let you know that you might want to open the package before you leave for the weekend because there is..."
"Something pershiable in it? Oh my goodness -- you didn't send me a cake, did you?" I wouldn't put it past my mom. But how in the world would a person possibly ship a birthday cake across the Atlantic?
"Well, that would be really challenging to do, wouldn't it?"
"Whew! Good. That would have been crazy, Mama."
"Well...I didn't say I didn't do it...I just said it might be challenging...."

Within minutes I'm back at my apartment, tearing away the cardboard strip of the UPS box, pulling out a plastic tupperware container with what appeared to be a somewhat-shifted-during-flight-but-still-ever-delicious chocolate cake. Popping the lid off, the sweet scent of Mama's homemade double layered chocolate cake with chocolate frosting fills the room. Ahhh....CAKE! :) There's something red -- perhaps some other frosting? -- smeared across the top of the cake along with an adorable small smiley face in the bottom right corner. Amazing -- somehow that smiley face remained completely in-tact through the international travel, jostling, and rough handling.

Tearing up with unbelievable joy and thanks, I call Mom back.
"I wrote 'Happy Birthday' on it!" she exclaims.
So that's what all of the other red frosting was...
Several other small, neatly wrapped gifts rest inside the box, and Mom and I agree that we'll "celebrate" my birthday on Monday when we skype and I can open the gifts then. :)




After opening the incredibly thoughtful package/cake, I head to Cordoba with Ashley and Joanna. A three hour bus ride later, we safely arrive to the Terrace Backpackers Inn -- a reasonably priced, yet still clean and nice, hostel in a central location of the city. "And here are your keys..." the receptionist says. Walking up the wooden stairs, we glance at our room. There is a sign on the door, deeming our place:

La casa de l'abuela

Translation: Grandma's House

Perfect for a 20-something birthday celebration. :)

The agenda for Saturday in Cordoba consists of visiting the Mezquita (the mecca monument to visit in Cordoba -- it's a huge and beautifully constructed mosque/cathedral with countless arches and elaborate white-washed domes). Lonely Planet also suggests a few "squares" to see in Cordoba, so we figure we can leisurely wander through those as well.

Saturday morning quickly comes. Closing the hostel front door behind us, we are met with wet sidewalks and raindrops. Popping open our umbrellas, we are determined to make the best of the day -- rain or no rain.



Cordoba is a quintessential European town -- truly, when you think of Europe, you probably think of a place like Cordoba. Narrow, windy cobble-stone streets criss cross to form a windy maze of a city. Window gardens with green and pink and purple draw your eyes up as your walk through the streets while the smell of coffee from countless sidewalk cafes draws you in. Beautiful is almost an understatement. Walking along, I think to myself: It's days like today, and places like this place, that make me fall more and more in love with Spain.



Wandering our way into the Mezquita, we picked up the English pamphlets of information. Joanna begins reading aloud to me and Ashley -- Ashley stays for a few moments and then wanders to take some pictures. Archway after archway after archway fill the room in the Mezquita. The arches are pretty, but not the most awe-inspiring thing I've seen in Europe. We walk further and find the cathedral part of the Mezquita. Looking up, it seems as though I cannot physically crane my head up high enough or tilt my neck back far enough to completely view the massive white, detailed dome above me. Wow.





We admire the beauty, but we also want to have some fun...so we take some "different" pictures. :) When you live in Europe, you see a lot of cathedrals -- and they are all certainly amazing and beautiful in their own way, but you come to this point where you want -- you NEED -- to start becoming creative with your photo poses. And so, the creativity we embraced....




Fast forward to the night -- we put on our shiny tops and heels and are ready for a night on the town! Rumor has it that Cordoba is home to gorgeous men -- with ice blue eyes, dark hair, and olive skin. I mean, I don't know about you, but I think I could handle that in a guy. :)



Leaving the hostel, we find a bar with fun music just around the corner. Enjoying a drink, we stay and dance for a little while, but the crowd is a bit older than us...time to head to the centro! Getting in the elevator, two guys come out of the elevator -- "Come with us! We're boyfriends!" they say. "Ahh! Let's go party with them, y'all!" I say to Ashley and Joanna. They both look at each other and then look and me and firmly say "NO. We're leaving." Lesson learned from this night and the night I went out in Malaga: Don't trust guys easily here. And if guys tell you they are gay, they probably aren't. Praise God for my common-sense and street-smart friends. :)

Next up: The Underground, a nightclub advertised at our hostel. Here we find a huge space for dancing, lots of young people, American music (yeah!) and (some) cute guys. We spend the night sipping on drinks and dancing with new Spanish friends. :)

Sunday we head back to Huelva, and Monday I make it home to Antilla and chat with my wonderful madre that night. :) Needless to say, it was an amazing weekend and birthday....there is still so much more to tell. Look out for a second birthday-related entry soon.

But for now....peace, love, Cordoba. :) And thank you for all of your love, support, and for helping to make my birthday abroad special! :)



Be blessed,
Your now 23-year old American rubia :)

"God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart." --Ecclesiastes 5:20 ESV

Aboriginal

Morgan explains that a certain Australian aboriginal tribe celebrates birthdays for a very different reason than that of our typical Western-based culture. Birthdays, to them, are not always celebrated. Birthdays are not an annual cake-eating, ice-cream-tasting, present-exchanging fiesta. They are, however, celebrated if a person has experienced growth and change and improvement over the past year of her life. Because in their culture, through their eyes, that is something worth celebrating.

So this year, on the verge of 23 years, I had to ask myself: Would I be celebrated in their culture? Would I want to celebrate myself?

And I can honestly and happily and thankfully answer: Yes.

Throughout the past year I have learned a great deal. I have completed an undergraduate degree in psychology. I have moved across the sea. I have attempted to learn Spanish. I have failed at Spanish - and I have succeed. I have hurt through the endings of some relationships in my life, and I have healed an unbelievable amount. I have gained strength, self-awareness, and optimism. My appreciation for the mundane at home has increased a thousand-fold. A home with central heating during December, the sweet taste of homemade chocolate cake from Mama, the hugs from my precious little boys that I babysit -- all of these things I miss, and I now, in turn, have a greater love and appreciation for them.

Yet, of course, I have fallen short. I have said too little. I have also said too much. I have worried. I have been too hard on myself -- and on others. I have made mistakes. But it is through these mistakes that we are human, and it is through our faults and imperfections that we grow.

I think I know myself. I think I have grown. But I also think I have a lot to learn. And a lot to work on. I shouldn't compare myself to others so much. I should not worry. I should learn to be content where I am, with what I have, and with who I am with. But although birthdays are for evaluation and honesty, I think they are for something more than that. They are for celebration. And I can joyfully and peacefully say that I am happy to celebrate the passing of my 22nd year of life and the beginning of what I hope and trust to be an even more amazing 23rd one. :)

"They believe that the purpose for the passage of time is to allow a person to become better, wiser, to express more and more of one's beingness. So if you are a better person this year than last, and only you know that for certain, then you call for the party." -- Mutant Message Down Under, Marlo Morgan



A special thank you to Elizabeth for sharing this amazing book with me -- I love you! :)

African Action

So in my last post I discussed the more thoughtful, student-like, globally-aware aspects of my trip to Africa. And although those are extremely important parts of traveling, and perhaps they are truly what give substance to seeing new places, there is also the important element of adventure and events that accompany travel. So this blog, part two of Africa, is devoted to the action of my African adventure.




Meeting the 100 or so 20-something year old participants along with our tour guides from DiscoverSevilla, our trip began as we boarded the buses. Stretch one of the trip: Sevilla to the south of Spain (a point so close to Africa that you can literally see Africa's land from the shore!). A few hours later, we were climbing off the buses and onto our first ferry ride to Africa!



Rocking, swaying, and attempting to not feel sea-sick, we arrived to the port an hour and a half later. But to our surprise, we could not dock. All the places in the port are occupied, they told us, so we have to wait, in the ferry, in the water, until we can dock.

Ok. This won't take too long, right?

I think you can see where this one is going.

About another hour and a half later, we finally stumbled off the ferry onto African land. Passports stamped and in hand, we were excited to be in another country and on a whole new continent! As one of our travel guides said, "You're in Africa now, guys...how sweet is that?"

Our choice to travel to Morocco with a travel organization (DiscoverSevilla - DS for short) was affirmed as a wise decision as soon as we placed foot on land. Stepping off of the boat into the darkness, we were greeted with intense stares from men, dim lighting, and signs entirely in Arabic. Culture shock? Big time.

After exchanging money from Euros to Dirhams (1 Euro = approximately 11 Dirham), we hopped onto the second bus of the night to travel two more hours to our hotel in Tetouan. At about 2:00 am we finally arrived at the Hotel Kabila; eyes half-open, stomachs starving, we crawled into the dining room to be served our first African dinner (breakfast? I'm not really sure what you call a meal at 2:00 am). The food was delicious and flavorful, and we were all so happy to safely be there. I was beyond excited at about 3:30am when we were able to finally rest our heads on the sweet hotel pillows.... :)

The next day was a full one - full of travel, new sights, and new people (three of my absolute favorite things). :) All 100 or so of the DiscoverSevilla travelers boarded the buses and began our drive through the Rif Mountains on our way to Chefchaouen. As described in my previous blog, Morocco is absolutely, breathing-takingly gorgeous. The grass is that kind of lush-unreal kind of green that you picture in far-away lands, and the mountains just curve and stretch in this beautiful kind of way. Small villages composed of rectangular-shaped creme-colored homes rest on the sides of the mountains, and every three miles or so there seem to be one of two things found: a set of three or more red Moroccan flags waving in the warm breeze or a huge billboard with a portrait of the King Muhummad VI. Where am I? The social psychologist in me kept wondering how this intensive form of homage and adoration to the Moroccan government affected the people's mentalities.







Soon enough we reached the inviting pueblo of Chefchaouen. Chefchaouen is distinct in that all of the buildings are blue and white washed - it makes for quite a unique place to explore.

The DS group was divided into smaller sections and we were taken on tours by Moroccan natives. Our tour guide was this lively older man who could probably walk faster than me through the windy and rough streets of Chef. The sad part of the tour is that our group was so large and there was so much noise in the tiny streets that it was difficult to actually hear and learn from our tour guide. But I did learn a few things....

(1.) People in Chefchaouen do not have gas in their homes. And I complain about no heating in Spain.

(2.) Some women wash their clothes by hand in the fresh spring there - not in a washer. Again, I complain about not having a dryer because the rain here makes drying my clothes on the clothesline so difficult. Needless to say, I felt a bit foolish and humbled after this trip.

(3.) Shopping is a completely different experience in Morocco. As soon as you touch that silky red scarf or blue beaded necklace, a store clerk is standing beside you, asking you repeatedly how much you want for it - whether you were actually thinking of buying it or not is irrelevant. It's all about the bargaining, baby.

(4.) I really like Moroccan food! It is absolutely delicious! I ate couscous for the first time in Africa...and not only did I eat it for the first time, but I ate it three times during the course of two days (one time by choice, and two times there was a set menu -- but each time it tasted different!).



(5.) Moroccan beer - Casablanca - is delicious!



(6.) Moroccan entertaiment, which we had the pleasure of enjoying Saturday evening during our hotel dinner, is extremely loud, lively, and, reduntantely put, entertaiming. :) Loud trumpet-like horns, elaborate blue and red shiny costumes, and a man who can balance a tray of lit candles on his head gave us a dinner full of intrigue. :)






On Sunday we woke up early, enjoyed another delicious Moroccan breakfast of pancake-like bread with honey and hot coffee and then headed back onto the bus. We rode for about an hour until we arrived at the medina of Tetouan. This city is quite different from Chefchaouen. Our tour guide was a different man from the previous day, but again, he was extremely lively and entertaining. Walking through the streets, I was in shock. Everything seemed so under-developed. Lack of pavement, mud in the streets, live chickens in the market, loose cats and kittens roaming around -- where am I? I asked again. "I want to show you all of Morocco -- the good, the bad, the ugly" our guide explained. It was still a beautiful place, but there is definitely a different way of life there, and my appreciation for my home cultures in Spain and the United States grew exponentially during this visit.


After an authentic Moroccan lunch (Couscous? You bet.), we headed to the coast for a quick visit before boarding our ferry for the return home. This beach was literally one of THE MOST gorgeous beaches I have ever seen in my life. The sun shining, beating down warmth on our faces, the wind whipping our hair and scarves, it was unreal. Huge, bright yellow-orange steep sand dunes and below the sparkling blue sea. Am I really in Africa? Is this really my life right now?


DS also provided us with the opportunity to ride camels -- which of course I wanted to do! I was a little disappointed by the length of the camel ride (we paid 2 Euros and it lasted for about 1 minute), but it was still a cool experience to have! And riding on the camel made me feel so tall -- which, being the towering 5 feet 1 inch tall that I am, I found to be a new and exciting feeling! :)

Post beach picture-taking and camel-rides, we headed to the boat. "Get your luggage! Get your passport and customs forms! Hurry!" For some reason they were really rushing us onto this boat. I thought we were doing fine on time?

A few hurried lines later, we all arrived on the very crowded ferry. After sitting and relaxing for about an hour, Julie wandered to go talk to some people. She came back with news:

"So, it turns out that this isn't the ferry we were supposed to be on. The ferry we were supposed to be on was cancelled, and this ferry is going to a couple of different ports in Spain. And our buses aren't on this ferry."

"Wait," I responded..."So we're going to be in Spain but without our buses - without a way to get back to Sevilla?"

"Yep." she said.

This should be interesting. :)



Thankfully, we met some awesome people who were sitting close to us who had a deck of cards handy. We found two other super lively and hilarious guys to play a two-person team card game with us: Mississippi. I don't know if you have ever played Mississippi or not before, but it is a really enjoyable game. So enjoyable that we played it for about an hour on the ferry and then for about 2 more hours once in the ferry station. I am just so thankful that we met these people to spend time with - the wait had the potential to be miserable, but instead it was as fun as waiting in a ferry station for 5 hours can be! :) Our buses finally arrived at 4am, and we finally made it back to Sevilla at 6:30 in the morning. Julie and I had booked a hostel for the night, but at that point we didn't even think it would be worth going to since we would have to check out in a couple of hours. Instead, we took taxis to our respective bus/train stations and boarded early transportation home.


Three African pueblos, several meals of couscous, one Moroccan bartarting experience, 6 new hilarious people, and 31 hours of no sleep later, I arrived back in Antilla, a safe, sleepy, and thankful traveler. :) My gratitude continues to grow with each trip I take, and I pray that the blessings and new experiences that God graciously gives me may in some way be a blessing to you too. Thank you for reading, and please know that I love you and am carrying you with me constantly!


With, what I pray, will grow into a more open mind and grateful heart each day,
Brittany :)

My Conflict with Culture

How can two lands that are so geographically close to one another, merely separated by a small slice of water, house two completely different cultures? I am still amazed by this fact.

Africa was nothing that I anticipated it to be, and I find this to be a comforting, challenging, and rewarding thing to accept. Morocco, at least from my perception, is vastly different from Spain and it is also vastly unique from the stereotypes of traditional African lands. There were no extremely dark-skinned people, no elephants, no jungles. Morocco is its own creation. A mixture of different histories and culture.


The dominant language is Arabic, and 98% of the Moroccan population practices Islam. Older men in long beige colored cloaks and small tan-skinned children with curious dark eyes fill the streets. Women were not found in the streets as easily, and the ones that were out were covered with the traditional Islamic hijab (loose clothing and head covering). It's interesting - the contrast between Morocco's landscape and their own development. The cities we visited are nestled in some of the most beautiful lands I have ever seen - lush green grass sprinkled with yellow flowers, mountains that stretched into the gray and white clouds, and then you turn to your left and see the sparkling light blue sea with miles of bright sand. Unbelievable. A true expression of God and his creation - beautiful, pure, and amazing.



Yet the infrastruce and actual development of the towns we visited was a contrast to the landscape. Rectungular shaped buildings rested within the hills of the Rif Mountains. The white paint on the outside is chipping and washed away. Walking, I feel the rough cobblestone digging into my feet with each step. Within the medina (Arabic for "city center") the roads consist of mud, orange dirt, and some cobblestone - pavement is nonexistent. The paths of the roads twist and turn and weave in and out of each other in one huge, seemingly unending maze. There are no street signs, no street names, and no street lighting. I can hardly imagine nagivating the streets during the day, much less at night. Stands of fresh fruit and meat line the twist and turns. Walking, I wonder "Where are the pharmacies? What is the health care like here? Education? Where are the doctors' offices? Where do people buy commonplace things - like toothpaste and deoderant?" I was in culture shock from both of my home cultures - the Untied States and Spain.



Fresh fish (heads and eyes fully attached), fresh chickens (yes, heads still attached), fresh pig (entire pigs hanging by the huffs) are found in the local markets. Where am I? I kept wondering. Is it really 2010?



It seems as though everything is made by hand in Morocco. Bread is not bought - you make the dough and take it to the bread baker who warms it and lets it rise. Clothes are not washed in a washing machine - the women take them down to the fresh spring and rinse and scrub them by hand. Rugs are not made by fancy sowing machines and in factories - they are sown for hours by hand. Things are not carried by trucks - instead old women and men walk past me, hunched over with large squares of spices and hay pressing down on their backs.

And I wonder, what do they think of us - Americans? Do they view us as selfish, greedy, thoughtless consumers? Or do they envy our culture of comfort and ease? Or do they view their own way of life as the best method of living? Do they think we should change our ways of life to comply with their culture?

This trip has sparked a new questioning of culture for me. Why do we live the way we do? I'm reading a book that Mom gave to me before coming to Spain -- The Monkey and the Fish by author Dave Gibbons. Although I'm not far along in the book, it's already been thought-provoking. Gibbons explores an idea called "third culture" and challenges each member of the church to embrace a third culture mentality. Third culture, according to Gibbons, is this idea of living in a fleixible, adaptable, changable mindset. It's about loving those who are different from us. It's about seeing things from others perspectives. It's about embracing culture and community. Last night I read about the following:

"Brooks then refers to a study by professor of psychology Richard Besbitt in which Americans and Asians were shown individual pictures of a chicken, a cow, and hay. When they were asked which of the pictures go together, Americans typically picked the two animals. Asians typically picked the cow and the hay, since cows eat hay. Americans tend to see categories, whereas Asians are more likely to see relationships. That's why doing business in Asia is about more than signing a contract; it's about relationships of trust." (p.50)


Now you may be thinking -- Brittany went to Africa; why is she writing about Asian culture? But this study got me thinking about my trip to Africa. It got me thinking about culture and relationships. I say that Africa is underdeveloped - and perhaps in many ways they are. But think of it - due to them not having gas or washing machines in their homes, they are forced to depend on one another more. You must take your dough to the bread-maker. You must leave your home to wash your clothes. And you need help with doing these things -- you cannot do it all alone. And us? In the US? Goodness knows we can function independently and in quite an isolated manner. We can buy (or make) our own bread, we can wash and dry on our own clothes, we can order practially everything on-line and have it delivered to us -- without even having to step a foot of our home. And although this technology and convience is amazing and life-changing, and yes, certainly it is something that I enjoy and am thankful for, I think it causes us to lose another important part of culture -- community and relationships. So perhaps Morocco is not as advanced in terms of technology, perhaps they are "developing" in many ways, but maybe there is something we can learn from them. We can learn about community, we can learn about dependence, we can learn about appreciation and gratitude. Maybe they are developed too, just differently.

Look out for another blog about Africa -- the trip was so full and thought-provoking that I couldn't fit everything into one post! :) As always, thank you for reading and for being a part of my life here. I hope that this post challenges you to think about your own culture and values. I love you and am praying safety, health, blessings, and joy for you!


Besos from your American traveler... :)