Man, life flies. I have been around for 22 years but I still have no idea how to reconcile that into anything. I mean, I have gained experiences, I have learned and grown, but to most other humans I am still young, and being faced with mountains and buildings which have spanned centuries, well, I just have a hard time fitting the context. In this same way, things can happen, big things, that can throw us off kilter. Like, moving to a foreign country, for instance. But sometimes those things seem more managable than say, a double booking over the holidays or a sickly laptop. Humans are so strange.
So, as I am sure you can tell from what I have already said, I have been spending a lot of time outside, just thinking, because my laptop is on the fritz (I am using Marga´s) but I have yet to find anyone to look at it, so I don´t know. It is largely due to my dislike of the foreign keyboard that I have not posted. That and the fact that I can´t upload pictures. Again, something tiny having a disproportionate effect...
So that is my apology for not having photos with this posting.
Since I last posted, I have been living on much as I have in the first month of coming here. Exploring, learning, loving.
I went on a ladies picnic last week with 4 of the women from school and their children. We went to Isabelle's country house, settled into a hillside outside Valldemossa. I helped get the food started and chatted with the women as the kids played in the expansive yard, spanning three terraced levels of earth. I soon set off to explore the trails around Valldemossa, as I am planning a cross-island hike that goes through here. I set off with my little backpack, in my hiking clothes with my map and I was on top of the world. Turns out I became incredibly lost and, at no point do I think I actually had any idea where I was, but it was fun and the valley and hills were so beautiful. I always knew how to get back to the town and that was really all I needed. I watched the differing phases of daylight move across the town and the trees and made it back by 2 for lunch.
We ate in the traditional old kitchen, with the fire burning in the corner. And I was totally in on all the grown up talk. And, listen, this is to all you adults who ever told me "I´ll tell you when you are older" or any other such dismissal, I want you to know that you guys made adult talk seem a lot more exciting than it actually is. I mean, jeeze, most of the time you just talk about your kids and stuff. I thought the secrets of the world would be laid out flat and clear. Turns out you guys are just as confused about things as we were. Except you worry about serious things, we kids were mainly worried aobut who had the better fort.
But it was fun, I felt like an explorer into this new territory of `adult womanhood.´ Sitting and talking and bustling. I think I am getting pretty good at it, but I do still have tons of work left to do. As evening approached we packed all the kids and dogs and food up and went home. It was an awesome day.
Then on Sunday, Marga and I met up with the big group of teachers again and we went on another excursion. This time we walked the cliff tops of Cap Blanc, to the south west lip of the bay to Palma. The cliff faces waved off into the distance, eventually giving way to a glimpse of the largest city on these islands (comprising half the population of the entire territory) as a tiny haze of buildings. The cliffs were orange and warm, like the sun that day. So different from the gray and white of the cliffs in England. An entirely different feeling and alluring in its own way. We walked in the sun and the breeze along the incredibly flat brink of the cliffs. Stopping to look out to the sea and chat. We quickly came across some old soldier bunkers. Some little mounds dug out with views out to the sea. To defend against pirates. Seriously. Anna. Pirates.
We found a tunnel between bunkers but no one wanted to go through it because it was so dark. Being a Hughes, I of course had a flashlight on me. Three of us walked through the tunnel. It was very tunnely. Long, dark, cold, echoey. Cool.
We went on about another hour and then sat on the cliff for our lunch. A few of the women were incensed that some had suggested we only spend an hour eating lunch so we could walk more. It quickly became clear that this was generally regarded as impossible. So we settled to. Same elaborate lay out of food, same lounging and constant preoccupation with keeping me from going too close to the ledge, same mutual joy in sharing in such an amazing place.
The seagulls drifting on winds below us, the low shrubbery that hid delicious mushrooms under their branches (the women were teaching me about which are safe and which are poisinous). It was a brilliant and tiring day. Just my kind!
Since then it has been back to classes, starting to do a little tutoring so that is good, and today, on our weekly adventure, Cristina and I went to a village called Sant Elm, that looks out over this nature preserve island called ´sa dragonera´. The place was a literal ghost town, as it was a cloudy and chilly day, but Cristina and I had a coffee and talked about life and watched the water and enjoyed the peace and silence.
And now I am sitting here, sharing it all with you, thinking about dinner and starting to do a little lesson planning, but I had actually better get to it.
I love you all, thank you.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Field Trippin'
A few days ago Marga invited me to join in on an excursion for the third and fourth graders to the village of Orient and its apple orchards and mountains.
We arrived at the school early today to help make the bagged lunches and then I got to observe elementary school teachers at work, organizing 50 some odd squirming, excited children into something resembling enough order before the buses showed up. We headed north and east of Palma on one of the few autopistas on the island before pulling off into a village where we promptly got the larger of the two buses stuck on some back road.
Now, let me explain something about European buses, their fronts are completely flat and their turning set up is far different from cars with 'bonnets', so if you are sitting in the front row, as I was, you watch through the giant, flat pane of glass and feel yourself moving directly toward, say, the wall right in front of you, before cutting off and turning. In this exact arrangement we came to a T in the road, facing a wall, with a wall to our right and a stone fence to our left and after several attempts which brought us to within centimeters of the wall in front of us, we maneuvered backwards down the street (much to the amusement of the capped old chaps having their morning 'meet me at my garage' discussions) and came at it from a different route.
Suffice it to say, the drive into the mountains was breathtaking in several senses of the word. We
followed a narrow, winding road up between two mountains called Castell d'Alaro (left) and Alcadena (right) between which, according to native lore, witches nightly string a tela de araña on which to play and dance until sunrise. They were beautiful, striking and screamed "get on your climbing shoes, find some ropes and climb us!"
We drove through impossibly lush fields nestled into and along the necks of mountain valleys, all the while singing the standard 'kids on a field trip' songs.
We soon were pulling into the tiny village of Orient, comprised of some 10-15 huge old stone edifices,
surrounded by plots of green fields and apple orchards. As we arrived at about 10:30 the first order of business was to get all the kids seated at old wooden benches at tables and for everyone to snack. This gave me the opportunity to explore the two streets of the village and to locate the tiny restaurant which, according to one of the teachers, serves some amazing, stone oven baked dishes (something to bear in mind granddaddy and grandmother=)). I was struck by the isolation and peacefulness of the area. It was a nice counterweight to flurry of activity that was my miniature companions.
We then set out into the warm sunlight toting tiny backpacks with uniform sweaters tied around waists or carried awkwardly over arms, heads, tied to hats and backpacks and any other strange arrangement which might strike a 4th grader as a good idea. We passed through a couple low fields around the village, stopping several times for our tour guide to teach us about the village, the industry and history of the area. He did all of this speaking in a Mallorquin dialect which Marga told me she had not heard since her grandfather. I was able to understand and process about 25% of this but seriously enjoyed the sounds as well as the pleasure of focusing and straining my mind to capture what I did know and to compound onto that, picking up what I understood and putting together what I could infer from gestures and the likes.
We made our way into an apple orchard where we were each allowed to pick an apple to take home to show our parents...so, check it out mom and dad! Look what I got on my field trip today.
From there we began to climb into a shaded wood, thus requiring the re-employment of the fleece I had earlier packed away. Along the trail we came across families carrying wicker baskets full of mushrooms they had picked on the mountain-side, as well as a flock of curious, bell toting sheep.
We passed a tree which they calculated to be over 300 years old and on to a recreated site the traditional method of making coal here on the islands. This process took from late spring to early fall and required full time maintenance. To begin with a large pile of solid logs were stacked close together, covered by a layer of samller wood, thatched with a heavy grass and then encased in dirt. The middle was left open as a sort of smoke stack and could be covered or exposed according to the temperature of fire necessary to enable the process. The aim being to reduce the wood to coal. The process required constant su
pervision and as such a small hut was built close to the fire ring where a man lived through all the months of burning. To my right you can see the recreated burn pile (only about half the size of the historical burns) and in the background to my left you can see the low hut in which the watcher resided, sleeping on a mat of reeds supported on rocks.
From there we ambled on up the mountainside, collecting acorns, rocks and whatever else struck anyone's fancy. Each, naturally, requiring some sort of proud display to anyone who would pay attention. All the kids were quite taken with the idea of using the acorn tops as finger hats and of the double snap and palm to fist horse sound that dad has taught me. We came to a dynamited pass where the herds were moved between villages. We passed several other old burn sites and found a large poop which the children decided probably belonged to one of the witches who must hide in those mountains during the day, waiting to play during the nights.
We stopped again to learn about native insects and birds before moving on to our lunch site/battleground/princess castle/enchanted wood/free for all toilet. While climbing in one of the trees I silently witnessed the passing of a roving soldier battalion of 3rd grade boys trying to decide which tree they should, in their words, 'poison.'
From there we passed down, back out of the woods, through a dried up 'torrent' bed and on down a long, muddy sheep path with striking views of the surrounding meadows to our pick up point. I then stared happily and mindlessly out the window as we departed the peaceful valley and was soon sleeping all the way back to Palma.
I loved seeing such a secluded area of Mallorca, existing quietly in its own epoch and time frames. I also enjoyed watching the children and how engrossed they could become with objectives such as filling an empty water bottle with nuts, stones, exploring for bugs, working together to secretly carry a 10 ft. branch over a mile, just for the joy of manly teamwork and eluding teacherly detection.
Quite a joy.
We arrived at the school early today to help make the bagged lunches and then I got to observe elementary school teachers at work, organizing 50 some odd squirming, excited children into something resembling enough order before the buses showed up. We headed north and east of Palma on one of the few autopistas on the island before pulling off into a village where we promptly got the larger of the two buses stuck on some back road.
Now, let me explain something about European buses, their fronts are completely flat and their turning set up is far different from cars with 'bonnets', so if you are sitting in the front row, as I was, you watch through the giant, flat pane of glass and feel yourself moving directly toward, say, the wall right in front of you, before cutting off and turning. In this exact arrangement we came to a T in the road, facing a wall, with a wall to our right and a stone fence to our left and after several attempts which brought us to within centimeters of the wall in front of us, we maneuvered backwards down the street (much to the amusement of the capped old chaps having their morning 'meet me at my garage' discussions) and came at it from a different route.
Suffice it to say, the drive into the mountains was breathtaking in several senses of the word. We
followed a narrow, winding road up between two mountains called Castell d'Alaro (left) and Alcadena (right) between which, according to native lore, witches nightly string a tela de araña on which to play and dance until sunrise. They were beautiful, striking and screamed "get on your climbing shoes, find some ropes and climb us!"We drove through impossibly lush fields nestled into and along the necks of mountain valleys, all the while singing the standard 'kids on a field trip' songs.
We soon were pulling into the tiny village of Orient, comprised of some 10-15 huge old stone edifices,
surrounded by plots of green fields and apple orchards. As we arrived at about 10:30 the first order of business was to get all the kids seated at old wooden benches at tables and for everyone to snack. This gave me the opportunity to explore the two streets of the village and to locate the tiny restaurant which, according to one of the teachers, serves some amazing, stone oven baked dishes (something to bear in mind granddaddy and grandmother=)). I was struck by the isolation and peacefulness of the area. It was a nice counterweight to flurry of activity that was my miniature companions.We then set out into the warm sunlight toting tiny backpacks with uniform sweaters tied around waists or carried awkwardly over arms, heads, tied to hats and backpacks and any other strange arrangement which might strike a 4th grader as a good idea. We passed through a couple low fields around the village, stopping several times for our tour guide to teach us about the village, the industry and history of the area. He did all of this speaking in a Mallorquin dialect which Marga told me she had not heard since her grandfather. I was able to understand and process about 25% of this but seriously enjoyed the sounds as well as the pleasure of focusing and straining my mind to capture what I did know and to compound onto that, picking up what I understood and putting together what I could infer from gestures and the likes.
We made our way into an apple orchard where we were each allowed to pick an apple to take home to show our parents...so, check it out mom and dad! Look what I got on my field trip today.
From there we began to climb into a shaded wood, thus requiring the re-employment of the fleece I had earlier packed away. Along the trail we came across families carrying wicker baskets full of mushrooms they had picked on the mountain-side, as well as a flock of curious, bell toting sheep.
We passed a tree which they calculated to be over 300 years old and on to a recreated site the traditional method of making coal here on the islands. This process took from late spring to early fall and required full time maintenance. To begin with a large pile of solid logs were stacked close together, covered by a layer of samller wood, thatched with a heavy grass and then encased in dirt. The middle was left open as a sort of smoke stack and could be covered or exposed according to the temperature of fire necessary to enable the process. The aim being to reduce the wood to coal. The process required constant su
pervision and as such a small hut was built close to the fire ring where a man lived through all the months of burning. To my right you can see the recreated burn pile (only about half the size of the historical burns) and in the background to my left you can see the low hut in which the watcher resided, sleeping on a mat of reeds supported on rocks.From there we ambled on up the mountainside, collecting acorns, rocks and whatever else struck anyone's fancy. Each, naturally, requiring some sort of proud display to anyone who would pay attention. All the kids were quite taken with the idea of using the acorn tops as finger hats and of the double snap and palm to fist horse sound that dad has taught me. We came to a dynamited pass where the herds were moved between villages. We passed several other old burn sites and found a large poop which the children decided probably belonged to one of the witches who must hide in those mountains during the day, waiting to play during the nights.
We stopped again to learn about native insects and birds before moving on to our lunch site/battleground/princess castle/enchanted wood/free for all toilet. While climbing in one of the trees I silently witnessed the passing of a roving soldier battalion of 3rd grade boys trying to decide which tree they should, in their words, 'poison.'
From there we passed down, back out of the woods, through a dried up 'torrent' bed and on down a long, muddy sheep path with striking views of the surrounding meadows to our pick up point. I then stared happily and mindlessly out the window as we departed the peaceful valley and was soon sleeping all the way back to Palma.I loved seeing such a secluded area of Mallorca, existing quietly in its own epoch and time frames. I also enjoyed watching the children and how engrossed they could become with objectives such as filling an empty water bottle with nuts, stones, exploring for bugs, working together to secretly carry a 10 ft. branch over a mile, just for the joy of manly teamwork and eluding teacherly detection.
Quite a joy.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Here we are, there we go
So much has happened since my last post that I have been intimidated out of posting for a few days. But I suppose 'the times they are a changin'' and it is better to keep up as well as I can. So let us begin with Halloween.
Marga and the English teachers orchestrated a big Halloween bash for the kids. It took the whole afternoon period (3pm-5pm) and involved bringing 150 kids into a gym where we had set up 6 stations for them to visit. Card making, Halloween mask decorating, magic potion station, story station, mystery box and 'bobbing for apples.' I was in charge of the story station so I put
together 2 stories to read to the varying levels. For the older kids I told a simplified version of Sleepy Hollow, complete with pictures and the galloping horse sound I learned from my Dad when I was little. For the younger kids it was a story about an old woman at her spinning wheel and the arrival of a strange visitor who came in pieces (feet, legs, body, etc. [vocab they knew]). The magic potion station was a big hit b/c the kids got to drink the Ghoulish Punch which resulted and they also got to try pumpkin seeds. Something which they found interesting. They also liked the mystery boxes, where they put their hands into boxes we had decorated that were filled with things such as a hairy pretend spider, bones, jello, noodles, etc. By far my favorite station, if for nothing else than the amusing 'lost in translation' nature of it was 'bobbing for apples.' When I first suggested the idea the teachers were all gung-ho for it, but they then decided it was too dangerous, so instead they decided that hiding candies in vats of flour and letting the kids nuzzle it out would get the idea across. I must admit I was a bit worried about flour paste suffocation but it worked out with no side problems aside from a flour fight at the end. All in all it was a great success. The kids had fun and we spoke to them in English for most of it. At least half the kids donned some piece of a Halloween costume and were quite pleased with themselves. There were a lot of witches and vampires and such but it is clear that an American conception of Halloween is catching on over here.
After this exciting Friday activity we had a 3 day weekend to play with so I opted for a walking visit to the grounds of Bellver Castle which sits on a hill overlooking the city of Palma. I am including a video I took from the top of the castle.
I then explored the grounds, which I pretty much had to myself as the rainy weather had scared almost everyone else indoors. Afterwards I engaged in one of my favorite exploring activities which involves taking various city buses out to their furthest point and then getting off and wandering around. The one I chose on that day took me out to Isletas to the farwest side of Palma where I watched the sea waves overtaking the beaches and walk ways and enjoyed the sea breeze and watching the locals delighting in the unusually active waters. I sat for about an hour, eating my bread and cheese and mandarines wondering at the temprament of the waters and enjoying the occasional sea froth which managed to jump the 10 foot wall on which I was perched and splashed my feet. At the end of the day I was surprised to touch my face and find it coated in salt. Proof of my outing and a very good day.
I have found there is something to the weather here. Whie various small cloud cells bring varrying degrees of rain, they are also broken up by spots of brilliant, piercing sunlight and blue skies. Watching the shadows of the clouds glide across the water and the mountains and the inevitable rainbows that result is utterly lovely. And it is a celestial blessing when, on an otherwise wet day, the sun breaks through and shines directly and exclusively on you as you are going about your daily business. A little kiss from heaven.
On Tuesday Cristina and I took our weekly outing and went to visit the village town of Deiá, located on the west coast of the island in the Tramuntana mountains between Valldemossa and Soller. It is a tiny village known for being the village of the artists. Once there it was easy to see why. The town sits on a smooth little hill settled in a deep valley, surrounded on all sides by steep mountains with a perfect V shape view out to the sea. Houses were burning their fall leaf piles and I watched as these few columns of smoke rose upwards before being scattered into thin hazes by the winds which caught them just as they crested the mountain tops. We climbed to the top of the hill of the town to find the old cemetery where Robert Graves was burried. 
Being the day after the Day of the Saints, it was full of freshly deposited flowers and mementos. It was a beautiful peaceful place to spend a few moments of quite reflection on those in my life who have left this earth and to send thanks to them for their contributions to this earth and the people around me and, as such, making it possible for me to be here now, enjoying these moments in the capacity that I do.
Unlike most towns here, where the cemeteries are on the outskirts, the graveyard and adjoining church claimed the very top of the hill and center of the old village, commanding a gorgeous view of the surrounding mountains and the gorge which leads out to the sea. The hills were covered in mandarine and lemon trees, the ground carpeted by bright green undergrowth. The mountains rose into the deeper green of the larger trees and above that stood the windwept tops where the rocky earth stood out, spotted with low growing trees and shrubs. The sun set over the town, casting the old stone houses in the warmest hues of yellow and red and orange before relinquishing them to the cool shadows of evening.
Since then I have been busy in procuring clothing which befits the cooling weather. Turns out that just because these are Mediterranean islands does not mean it is always warm and temperate here. Apparently the winters here get down to around 10 degrees C of a very humid and bone chilling nature. As such I have been on the hunt for on sale sweaters, long pants and purchased a warm coat. All of this being brightened by the prospect of visits from a number of my most goodest favorite people ever! I am loved and blessed and more than thrilled to share it with you in any way possible.
~~~~~~~
Aside from these reflections and stories of my life, we are facing monumental changes in our own American culture. The election of Senator Obama to the position of President has been a matter of great excitement over here. Strangers on the street and in the supermarkets stop me to congratulate me on the election of Obama, so much so that it makes me wish that Presidential elections were international popularity contests because if so, we just won a big gold star. It will be interesting to see what this really means for us. Regardless of our individual sentiments on the matter, I think it says a lot about our country that we have elected a black man to the role of leader and face of our country.
And so again I say, 'the times they are a changin'.'
Marga and the English teachers orchestrated a big Halloween bash for the kids. It took the whole afternoon period (3pm-5pm) and involved bringing 150 kids into a gym where we had set up 6 stations for them to visit. Card making, Halloween mask decorating, magic potion station, story station, mystery box and 'bobbing for apples.' I was in charge of the story station so I put
together 2 stories to read to the varying levels. For the older kids I told a simplified version of Sleepy Hollow, complete with pictures and the galloping horse sound I learned from my Dad when I was little. For the younger kids it was a story about an old woman at her spinning wheel and the arrival of a strange visitor who came in pieces (feet, legs, body, etc. [vocab they knew]). The magic potion station was a big hit b/c the kids got to drink the Ghoulish Punch which resulted and they also got to try pumpkin seeds. Something which they found interesting. They also liked the mystery boxes, where they put their hands into boxes we had decorated that were filled with things such as a hairy pretend spider, bones, jello, noodles, etc. By far my favorite station, if for nothing else than the amusing 'lost in translation' nature of it was 'bobbing for apples.' When I first suggested the idea the teachers were all gung-ho for it, but they then decided it was too dangerous, so instead they decided that hiding candies in vats of flour and letting the kids nuzzle it out would get the idea across. I must admit I was a bit worried about flour paste suffocation but it worked out with no side problems aside from a flour fight at the end. All in all it was a great success. The kids had fun and we spoke to them in English for most of it. At least half the kids donned some piece of a Halloween costume and were quite pleased with themselves. There were a lot of witches and vampires and such but it is clear that an American conception of Halloween is catching on over here.After this exciting Friday activity we had a 3 day weekend to play with so I opted for a walking visit to the grounds of Bellver Castle which sits on a hill overlooking the city of Palma. I am including a video I took from the top of the castle.
I then explored the grounds, which I pretty much had to myself as the rainy weather had scared almost everyone else indoors. Afterwards I engaged in one of my favorite exploring activities which involves taking various city buses out to their furthest point and then getting off and wandering around. The one I chose on that day took me out to Isletas to the farwest side of Palma where I watched the sea waves overtaking the beaches and walk ways and enjoyed the sea breeze and watching the locals delighting in the unusually active waters. I sat for about an hour, eating my bread and cheese and mandarines wondering at the temprament of the waters and enjoying the occasional sea froth which managed to jump the 10 foot wall on which I was perched and splashed my feet. At the end of the day I was surprised to touch my face and find it coated in salt. Proof of my outing and a very good day.
I have found there is something to the weather here. Whie various small cloud cells bring varrying degrees of rain, they are also broken up by spots of brilliant, piercing sunlight and blue skies. Watching the shadows of the clouds glide across the water and the mountains and the inevitable rainbows that result is utterly lovely. And it is a celestial blessing when, on an otherwise wet day, the sun breaks through and shines directly and exclusively on you as you are going about your daily business. A little kiss from heaven.
On Tuesday Cristina and I took our weekly outing and went to visit the village town of Deiá, located on the west coast of the island in the Tramuntana mountains between Valldemossa and Soller. It is a tiny village known for being the village of the artists. Once there it was easy to see why. The town sits on a smooth little hill settled in a deep valley, surrounded on all sides by steep mountains with a perfect V shape view out to the sea. Houses were burning their fall leaf piles and I watched as these few columns of smoke rose upwards before being scattered into thin hazes by the winds which caught them just as they crested the mountain tops. We climbed to the top of the hill of the town to find the old cemetery where Robert Graves was burried. 
Being the day after the Day of the Saints, it was full of freshly deposited flowers and mementos. It was a beautiful peaceful place to spend a few moments of quite reflection on those in my life who have left this earth and to send thanks to them for their contributions to this earth and the people around me and, as such, making it possible for me to be here now, enjoying these moments in the capacity that I do.Unlike most towns here, where the cemeteries are on the outskirts, the graveyard and adjoining church claimed the very top of the hill and center of the old village, commanding a gorgeous view of the surrounding mountains and the gorge which leads out to the sea. The hills were covered in mandarine and lemon trees, the ground carpeted by bright green undergrowth. The mountains rose into the deeper green of the larger trees and above that stood the windwept tops where the rocky earth stood out, spotted with low growing trees and shrubs. The sun set over the town, casting the old stone houses in the warmest hues of yellow and red and orange before relinquishing them to the cool shadows of evening.
Since then I have been busy in procuring clothing which befits the cooling weather. Turns out that just because these are Mediterranean islands does not mean it is always warm and temperate here. Apparently the winters here get down to around 10 degrees C of a very humid and bone chilling nature. As such I have been on the hunt for on sale sweaters, long pants and purchased a warm coat. All of this being brightened by the prospect of visits from a number of my most goodest favorite people ever! I am loved and blessed and more than thrilled to share it with you in any way possible.
~~~~~~~
Aside from these reflections and stories of my life, we are facing monumental changes in our own American culture. The election of Senator Obama to the position of President has been a matter of great excitement over here. Strangers on the street and in the supermarkets stop me to congratulate me on the election of Obama, so much so that it makes me wish that Presidential elections were international popularity contests because if so, we just won a big gold star. It will be interesting to see what this really means for us. Regardless of our individual sentiments on the matter, I think it says a lot about our country that we have elected a black man to the role of leader and face of our country.
And so again I say, 'the times they are a changin'.'
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
