Friendly Spain

“I try all things; I achieve what I can“ - (Ishmael), Herman Melville

The Spanish language is easy on the ears. While the French seem to have a perpetual mucus issue, and the Germans an anger one; the Spanish use language differently. It almost sounds like you are listening to art. It flows better. I have never noticed it before, and I suppose it took me four days in Switzerland to really notice it now, but it certainly sounds better. Now, Obviously, I speak English; a superb language in its' own right: proper, complex, efficient, but I think had I been born in a bilingual household, I would prefer Spanish. I am almost at the point where I am jealous of those who speak it fluently; it frustrates me that it comes so easy to them and yet evades my grasp. I understand key phrases and simple interaction , but not at the level I would like to. I have even tried to have conversations in Spanish with unknowing locals, but as soon as I finish my first sentence in Spanish, they change to English! It is annoying, with a side of embarrassing that my Spanish sounds so American that they pity me, and of course, their English is way better than my Spanish, why wouldn't it be? Oh well, Europe has humbled me once again. I'm sort of getting used to it.

Traveling by train from Zermatt, my brother and I crossed the Pyreneese Mountains into Spain where the climate changed almost instantly to sunny skies and warm breezes. It was as if we were entering an entirely new world, which in many ways, we were. The snow covered peaks of the Alps gave way to hills of orange groves and tulip patches. I could not have imagined a more Mediterranean scene had I looked in a picture book. The train dropped us at Barcelona Sants train station. There we met who else but our friend Matt who teaches science in the city. He took us around and showed us things we would have had a hard time finding on our own, at least without wasting our time and looking like dumb tourists. I noticed first how young the city was. Older people were at a premium, and they only appeared in glimpses during the daylight hours. The plethora of youth gave the city hand fulls of energy; spent eating tapas and drinking until the break of dawn. If you enjoy access to alcohol, come to Barcelona. True, you can only buy beers until 11 PM but why would that stop the city from getting you your drink? Go to a bar and drink your night away with seemingly endless time, or on your walk home, just buy a beer from one of about a thousand sellers of Estrella beer; a local favorite I presume. These guys work tirelessly, putting in long hours and probably missing their kids soccer games so you can walk with beer in hand at all times of the day, oblivious to realities – God bless these heroes of the night! May they prosper in all their future endeavors.

I will not write about tourist attractions such as museums, cathedrals, monuments, statues, graves or the like during this trip; it would be a daunting task and take way too much time. On every street there is another relic where man X defeated men B and C with army T in the war W between countries F and D in the year **** BC or , if it's not as important, AD – country F is almost always Rome by the way. They are amazing (some of them) and deserve to be remembered, but what mind could remember them all? I challenge any European historian to walk around and tell you why each place has significance, and unless that historian is also a teller of tall tales, he would hesitate with inaccuracy.

So, …...... Sevilla. My Brother flew back home from Barcelona and Matt stayed there with his students so I took a train by myself to Sevilla, via Madrid. I instantly fell in love with the city upon walking to the Oasis Backpacker Hostel near Plaza de Encarnacion. The colors of the buildings, the joy of the people, the history of the architecture, the attractiveness of the women; everything and everyone seems right in Sevilla. Right about what? - I'm not sure, but I am positive they are correct. I did many things in Sevilla, but one thing that stood out was my tour of Plaza de Toro, or the bull fighting ring. Unfortunately, my timing was terrible, as I missed the Fiesta de Abril which produced a fight everyday in the month of April, and May 13^th which was the next fight, but the tour was great and I learned a lot. The funny thing with bullfighting is its' position in society. Some people are rigid against it and others for it. It is culture versus cruelty. I thought going to the ring would give me some perspective and help me make up my mind about it, but I am only more undecided now. However, one thing I am surely against:

The Bullfighting Hypocrisy:

The goal for the Bullfighter in a bullfight is clear; evade the bull and kill him at the end as clean as possible – I get that. The goal of the bull in the bull fight is to kill the bullfighter – I get that. A bull is successful when he puts on a good show for the people and proves he is worthy of receiving mercy so he may live on and produce other prize bulls. This is extremely rare and only happens a few times in decades by the way. Here is what I am against: the bull is only saved when the president of the fight says he is. This only happens when the bull puts on a great show of aggression but DOES NOT kill the bullfighter. If he does kill the bullfighter, he is executed, and not only that, but for good measure, the mother of said bull, presumably enjoying a day out to pasture, is gathered and executed as well, so she will not produce another killer bull. So, when the bullfighter achieves ultimate success, the bull dies – I get that. When the bull achieves ultimate success, the bull dies, and so does his mother – I don't get that.