Graffiti

For some inexplicable reason, Google insists that I want to conduct all of my searches off of their Italian site. I could understand if they insisted upon either France or Morocco, but really, Itally? Where on earth did they get it into their heads that I wanted to conduct my search in Itallian? This is even after I have selected my search preferences for English only… eah! Alright, this all aside. I realize I have been really quite slow on the updates, however, please forgive me, I have two major excuses. One: I was in Spain. Two: Upon returning from Spain, I got sick. Now, I am both well and no longer running around Southern Europe. So I should have a blog ready for you all, right? Right. Ah ha ha ha. So. This may feel like the most scattered post yet, but I will tell you about Spain first! And then, hopefully, I will get around to a second blog…

We spent an entire week traveling, but half of that time was spent traveling through northern Morocco. One evening before dinner I found myself exploring a woodshop on my own while a few of my classmates were next door haggling over a few rugs. I was examining a beautifully inlaid jewelry box when, as is usual, the shop owner approached me to strike up a conversation. In Rabat, most Moroccans will first try to use French with tourists, however, this man used Spanish. Northern Morocco has much stronger ties to Spain than it does France, and so Spanish is the most logical second language for most individuals. I was a bit surprised at first, since I have grown used to broken conversations of butchered Darija and French.

Happily, when the need called for it, my three years of high school Spanish (which seems to be centuries ago) came back to me fairly easily. I was actually quite surprised at how much of the language I have retained, though it has remained dormant in my brain for so long. Though I am certainly not fluent, I was able to spend a happy twenty minutes talking in a broken conglomeration of English, Spanish and Darija. I was amazed at how easily and readily basic facts and meaning can be conveyed using whatever tools are available to the speakers, in whatever languages are available to them.

Not to change the subject completely, but, I am going to change the subject completely. Ha ha. During our four(ish) days in Spain, one was spent taking a bus from the city of Malaga to Granada. My peers and I originally started out together as a large group, but as the day progressed, we all separated into ever-smaller groups. One girl, Athena, was actually quite sick, and I volunteered to spend a quiet and restful day with her instead of heading off with others for more aggressive adventures in the city. We parted ways with the rest of the group at a small park near a crossroads with some of the most fantastic graffiti art I have ever seen. While Athena lay down in the shade of a tree to keep her head from spinning and her stomach from lurching, I took my camera out and documented as best I could the magnificent flurry of color and form bedecking every walled surface of the park.  Needless to say, I have attached several photos for your viewing pleasure.

As to the rest of our day together, we had a glorious time. Athena and I both recall our quiet, slow outing together as one of the highlights of our excursion, even though on paper, it does not seem that we did all that much. We walked through a second park, we visited a small café, we got lost on bus route 33 and missed our bus back to Malaga, so we had to catch another one at a much later hour.

We both got to practice our latent Spanish, and surprised ourselves with what we could and could not understand. Athena had spent a summer in Peru, and had apparently become fairly competent in the language. However, she was entirely unused to the accent and flow of Spain’s Spanish, and so often times found herself misunderstanding individuals on the street. I, on the other hand, though certainly not as competent in the language, was able glean a great deal of information and directions. However, I was also not distracted by trying to reconcile what I knew, what I was accustomed to, and what I was hearing. I was listening and understanding as best I could with the assumption and knowledge that I had only a very rudimentary ability to communicate.

My final commentary or concluding statement? My desire to become fluent in Spanish, long since dropped after graduating high school, has re-emerged with a powerful force. After struggling so long and hard to learn and use Darija, it was remarkably easy to slip back into Spanish, and recall much of what I had learned in high school. I have a newfound appreciation and gratitude for Profe Thompson. I found a new hope for myself that perhaps learning a second language is not such an impossible task as it sometimes feels to be, and a reassurance that it will not be so easily forgotten once I stop using it.