There nowhere to be but Córdoba en Mayo

After [unintentionally] going the whole year without returning to Córdoba, I finally made it back at the end, twice.

The first time I got back this month was for the glorious celebration of Los Patios.  Ok, so a lot of people probably wouldn't think Patios is nearly as awesome as I do (and as my dad commented last year, once you've seen one, you've seen them all). But I love flowers and gardens and I love the love and dedication that goes into each display.  

One of the award-winning patios

I arrived early on the high speed train to catch the morning session (because of course they close for siesta) and being sola, I was able to weasel my way through the narrow streets of the juderia quickly and skip the lines of seniors waiting to see a patio.  In the morning, I was able to get 2 of the 3 routes done, minus a couple of the patios on those routes.  After lunch and a quick respite (no time for siesta!) I headed back out to see the rest with my friend Alex, who had yet to really see the patios.  In the evening, we did the whole of the third route and even made it back to the patios I had skipped in the morning.  Counting them, I had managed to see all but one of the patios in the contest (plus a couple that had been disqualified, but refused to die quietly).  In all, I saw 50 patios, probably about 35 more than I saw the year before (ironic?).  Because the heat had already been strong this year, without the sheer amounts of rain of the year before, I must admit that they weren't as spectacular as last year.  And maybe my dad does have a point: many started to look and feel the same after hitting the midway point.  But I can't say that any of that took away from the beautiful and unique experience that is the Patios festival.  Sharing something you love with the world is always a treasure.  

Even the very-young must
get in their trajes.

The second time I went back was not even two weeks later, for the Córdoba Feria.  There's not really an experience quite like the feria celebrations of Andalucia, and for the three of you who read my blog from the last year, you might already be a little familiar with it.  

During the days, the fair grounds are a mesh of air-conditioned white tents filled with the smoke of grills and the colors of the traje gitana the women and girls are wearing.  Older men dress in their traditional suits and hats and ride their horses through the dirt streets, occasionally donning a beautiful woman riding sidesaddle behind him with a flower in her hair as big as her face.

Fireworks for the Alumbrado
seen through the main entrance

At night, few traditions remain as the hotter-than-hell dresses are kicked to the curb and exchanged for clothes more appropriate for a night at the discoteca, which is what has become of all the casetas, tents, after dark (which isn't until nearly 10:30 or 11 this time of year).  Outside the enormous portada, thousands of young kids and adults gather to drink their homemade cocktails in a mob that would leave few unintimidated.  Inside the fair, the ground almost vibrates with the loud music coming from the 100+ tents.  Young adults mingle with the not-so-young-anymore, where they enjoy dancing to the traditional Sevillanas as well as bouncing to Black Eyed Peas.  It's the ultimate meeting of young and old, traditional and modern, Córdoba and the rest of the world.  But mostly, it's Córdoba. 

I loved being in Malaga this year.  But in May, Córdoba is the place to be.

Lagos, Portugal

Lagos buddy, Haley

A couple of months ago, my friend Haley suggested we sign up for a trip to Lagos, Portugal which was organized by a travel company in Sevilla.  After hearing all the wonderful reviews of the same trip from my roommates and friends here in Malaga, I hardly needed convincing.

I don't think I realized it at the time, but it was certainly obvious once we arrived at the meeting point that we were probably the oldest people there and that the majority of our 150+ travel companions were there on their final trip of their study abroad semester.  Although this was extremely intimidating, the situation mostly added laughs rather than frustrations to our 72 hour trip.

The beach next to our hotel

Lagos, part of the southern region of Portugal, was absolutely stunning to say the very least.  I’ve definitely been to my share of spectacular beaches around the world, but this may have taken the cake (although, without an absolute side-by-side comparison, this statement is impossible to quantify; if only one could have every beautiful beach lined up side-by-side!).  The steep cliffs of the coast fell into beautiful clear blue waters.  Where the rocks met the water, grottos were worn into their sides; some only small enough for birds and their nests, others large enough for a small boat to pass.

Our hotel was spitting distance from one of the most beautiful beaches in the city.  The weather on our first and last day was beautiful and perfect for enjoying the pearly beach and even cooling off in the Atlantic waters.  The second day was a bit disappointing once we arrived at the sand, but it hardly dampened our spirits during the sangria-grotto sailboat tour. 

"Welcome Americans!
Safe Zone --> Go Get Loose"

The nights were filled exploring “downtown” Lagos, a sleepy little place which might have seen livelier days in the times of Columbus and the slave trade.  We were given the opportunity to see a couple of Lagos’s more “happening” places, including a particularly enjoyable bar called Joe’s Garage which looked more Los Angeles than borderline-Mediterranean.  Given the large mass of the group we came with, we didn’t stay out too much, as we also preferred to get in a good night’s rest before a rough day and the beach.

Overall, Portugal was inspiringly beautiful, and my short trip there has only made me want to see more of the country.  I don’t think it would be too much of a stretch to say that Portugal is one of the most overlooked countries of Western Europe, as most people probably think of the UK, Ireland, France, Germany and Spain more.  But I for one will never forget my stay there and will always tell others that Portugal is worth any effort to see.  

My Emo Moment

Note:  I wrote this on May 12, but do to technical difficulties, have not been able to post until now.

Today as I was walking to my classes I recalled the day last June that I received my letter informing me of my placement for this year.

Last year in Cordoba had been challenging on several levels and I wasn’t entertaining the idea of repeating it.  I had vowed to myself that unless I received my first choice placement, I wouldn’t come back.  I didn’t really expect this to actually happen. 

Low and behold, it did, I came back, and the rest is history. 

After a very positive year in Malaga, the sadness of leaving is creeping in.  I’ve already begun to develop the nostalgia for what I’ll be leaving, more than likely for good.

There’s a lot I wont miss and am looking forward to upon returning to my American home.  But my two years in Europe are coming to an end and the sights and customs that have become familiar and comfortable will slowly fade into memory and back into the novelty they once were: the rolling hills of olive trees, the uneven cobblestone streets, the lazy and self-indulgent days, the bustling market, the loud smokey restaurants, and the random graying man singing flamenco under my window, on the bus, or in the bar.

After denying it long enough, I’ve fully accepted that this has all been real life; nothing about his experience has been fake, a work of fiction, or something to do until my “real life” eventually began.  But because I’ve accepted that, I must also accept the need to move on and progress.

Too soon this period of my life will become a part of my personal history.  But what makes it OK is my knowledge that this place and my memories of it don’t cease to exist once I leave.  Furthermore, I have the upmost confidence that I’ll be back eventually, even if I don’t yet know when.