The distance between Madrid and Sevilla is accomplished by bus in seven hours. That is with clear roads, and instead of clear roads, we have snow flakes. Places in Spain have not seen snow for the past thirty years. Roads are slippery and slow, and everyone is staying indoors and at home. Regardless, we persevered, stopping in Cordoba, about two hours from Sevilla, to tour La Mezquita, or mosque. The mosque is of considerable size. You’ll notice in the photos that after the Reconquest, the mosque was converted into a Christian Catholic church. Still, much of the original foundation and architecture stand, and the changes over the years have only added to the richness of this beautiful structure. http://picasaweb.google.com/sgauche, Espana, Part 3.
So sorry it takes so long to post. Internet access has been hard to come by. And even less reliable once connected. I do have much more to say on this subject and my need (addiction?) for connectivity, but this wireless may go down any minute, so…. Hasta luego.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Old History, New History
The College of William and Mary is a perfect place for one to study American history. So much of this “Great American Experiment” finds its roots between the James and York rivers. I have explored the very beginnings of our country by walking on its streets, seeing its battlefields, and touring its buildings. This year there is extra excitement in the Williamsburg area as it will be the 400th anniversary of Jamestown- 1607-2007. 400 years have passed since the first settlers came, struggled, and created a new life in a new world. Very little exists from those first days, but excavation has produced some interesting findings, including the post holes dug for the wooden fortification. I took a great class last Spring on Early Chesapeake history that looked at all of these beginnings for the United States.
And now I’m in Europe, and particularily, Spain, which is home to thousands of years of history. Yes, all things Williamsburg are old and historical, but cannont even begin to compare to this place. Here, history lives. It is not something people study or have as a side interest. Rather, history is life. History is so tightly wound up into identity. It isn’t as if everyone walks around reciting dates and battles, but there is a greater awareness of “from when they came”. Not only are physical traces of history everywhere you look, from narrow, cobblestone streets to imposing cathedrals, but names and regions tell greater stories. There is an understanding that we are apart of something larger. There is a greater story that is being told, that stretches from before us to beyond us, yet includes us.
I talked with a man at dinner an evening a few months ago, who also like Arnold Palmer’s, about this subject. He brought the concept home for me when he reminded me that the Bible is like that as well. We are invited into a story that envelops are reality into a history and a future. We understand who we are as individuals and as people when we read God’s Word and see who God has been and continues to be. I am enthralled with seeing and understanding Colonial America history, but enjoy even more the older history of Spain that encompasses Moslems, Christians, and Jews. How much more would a history that extends to the beginning of time speak to me of the wonder of life and its experiences?
With that all said, on Wednesday, we traveled to Toledo, known as the “City of Three Cultures”. Toledo was the first capital of Spain under the Visigoths in the mid-6th century. If I remember correctly, the Visigoths were mercenaries from Alemania (Germany). Especially unique about this city is the fact that Jews, Moors, and Christians lived in this city for hundreds of years with religious tolerance. The city was not without political conflict or change, but the religious tolerance persisted and allowed these three religions to co-exist. Toledo looks much like a Roman city, rising up on a hill with majesty. Yet, in the 1560s, Toledo’s role as capital would end as the capital moved to Madrid.
Fernando, our tour guide, showed us the masterwork of El Greco (born Domingo Theotocopuli). El Greco came to Spain to work for Felipe II as a court painter decorating the Real Monasterio de San Lorenzo del Escorial. (See last entry and photos) When the king rejected his work, he moved to Toledo and painted “the Burial of Count Orgaz”.
“The painting depicts the miracle of the burial of the Count who died in 1586. Count Orgaz was responsible for the rebuilding of the church of San Tomas. He also donated a monastery to the Augustinian friars, which was dedicated to St. Stephen. El Greco’s painting depicts the moment when the priests were ready to bury the Count; St. Stephen and Augustine came down from heaven and buried him with their own hands. The painting is divided into two sections, the top, celestial, divine, idealist, and the bottom, human and realist. Take time to note in the lower left hand corner, the right hand panel of St. Stephen’s cloak with depicts the stoning of St. Stephen. Note, too, the three heavenly musicians in the cloud to the Virgin’s right. There is an extraordinarily beautiful portrait of St. Peter with the keys to heaven.”
Additionally, if you look closely at the faces of the “church people”, you will notice they are very similar to the face of the dead count. Interesting move, El Greco.
Toledo also has a convent that is credited with the creation of marzipan. The lore states that all the nuns had left was almonds and sugar. They used the two ingredients to create a sweet dough. And sweet it is!
We visited the Mosque of the Cristo de la Luz and the incredible Cathedral. You’ll notice in the photos the Monastery and Church of San Juan de los Reyes as well. Check them out at http://picasaweb.google.com/sgauche. Choose Espana, Part 2
We returned to Madrid in the afternoon to visit the Prado Museum. Its fine collection of over 3,000 paintings includes works of El Greco (“The Adoration of the Shepherds” and “St. Andrew and St. Francis”), Velazquez (“Las Meninas”), and Goya (“El tres de mayo” and “The Colossus”). I also saw Fra Angelico’s Annunciation, and suddenly last semester’s Italian Renaissance Art class was meaningful!
A full day, and another cold day. We went to dinner at a wonderful Italian restaurant, which I didn’t know was allowed when you were visiting Spain. Thursday is a traveling day to Sevilla- our destination.
Toledo was a reminder that history is the story of 1180, 1492, 1607, and 2007. The reality that all passing time becomes apart of the larger story is an important reminder to live much like Charles Dickens’ Scrooge promised to live: acknowledging the past, present, and future. After all, it all ends up history.
God bless us everyone!
And now I’m in Europe, and particularily, Spain, which is home to thousands of years of history. Yes, all things Williamsburg are old and historical, but cannont even begin to compare to this place. Here, history lives. It is not something people study or have as a side interest. Rather, history is life. History is so tightly wound up into identity. It isn’t as if everyone walks around reciting dates and battles, but there is a greater awareness of “from when they came”. Not only are physical traces of history everywhere you look, from narrow, cobblestone streets to imposing cathedrals, but names and regions tell greater stories. There is an understanding that we are apart of something larger. There is a greater story that is being told, that stretches from before us to beyond us, yet includes us.
I talked with a man at dinner an evening a few months ago, who also like Arnold Palmer’s, about this subject. He brought the concept home for me when he reminded me that the Bible is like that as well. We are invited into a story that envelops are reality into a history and a future. We understand who we are as individuals and as people when we read God’s Word and see who God has been and continues to be. I am enthralled with seeing and understanding Colonial America history, but enjoy even more the older history of Spain that encompasses Moslems, Christians, and Jews. How much more would a history that extends to the beginning of time speak to me of the wonder of life and its experiences?
With that all said, on Wednesday, we traveled to Toledo, known as the “City of Three Cultures”. Toledo was the first capital of Spain under the Visigoths in the mid-6th century. If I remember correctly, the Visigoths were mercenaries from Alemania (Germany). Especially unique about this city is the fact that Jews, Moors, and Christians lived in this city for hundreds of years with religious tolerance. The city was not without political conflict or change, but the religious tolerance persisted and allowed these three religions to co-exist. Toledo looks much like a Roman city, rising up on a hill with majesty. Yet, in the 1560s, Toledo’s role as capital would end as the capital moved to Madrid.
Fernando, our tour guide, showed us the masterwork of El Greco (born Domingo Theotocopuli). El Greco came to Spain to work for Felipe II as a court painter decorating the Real Monasterio de San Lorenzo del Escorial. (See last entry and photos) When the king rejected his work, he moved to Toledo and painted “the Burial of Count Orgaz”.
“The painting depicts the miracle of the burial of the Count who died in 1586. Count Orgaz was responsible for the rebuilding of the church of San Tomas. He also donated a monastery to the Augustinian friars, which was dedicated to St. Stephen. El Greco’s painting depicts the moment when the priests were ready to bury the Count; St. Stephen and Augustine came down from heaven and buried him with their own hands. The painting is divided into two sections, the top, celestial, divine, idealist, and the bottom, human and realist. Take time to note in the lower left hand corner, the right hand panel of St. Stephen’s cloak with depicts the stoning of St. Stephen. Note, too, the three heavenly musicians in the cloud to the Virgin’s right. There is an extraordinarily beautiful portrait of St. Peter with the keys to heaven.”
Additionally, if you look closely at the faces of the “church people”, you will notice they are very similar to the face of the dead count. Interesting move, El Greco.
Toledo also has a convent that is credited with the creation of marzipan. The lore states that all the nuns had left was almonds and sugar. They used the two ingredients to create a sweet dough. And sweet it is!
We visited the Mosque of the Cristo de la Luz and the incredible Cathedral. You’ll notice in the photos the Monastery and Church of San Juan de los Reyes as well. Check them out at http://picasaweb.google.com/sgauche. Choose Espana, Part 2
We returned to Madrid in the afternoon to visit the Prado Museum. Its fine collection of over 3,000 paintings includes works of El Greco (“The Adoration of the Shepherds” and “St. Andrew and St. Francis”), Velazquez (“Las Meninas”), and Goya (“El tres de mayo” and “The Colossus”). I also saw Fra Angelico’s Annunciation, and suddenly last semester’s Italian Renaissance Art class was meaningful!
A full day, and another cold day. We went to dinner at a wonderful Italian restaurant, which I didn’t know was allowed when you were visiting Spain. Thursday is a traveling day to Sevilla- our destination.
Toledo was a reminder that history is the story of 1180, 1492, 1607, and 2007. The reality that all passing time becomes apart of the larger story is an important reminder to live much like Charles Dickens’ Scrooge promised to live: acknowledging the past, present, and future. After all, it all ends up history.
God bless us everyone!
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Beginnings
It is the dawn of a second full day in Madrid. I’m nestled into a tiny little hotel room in the heart of the city. The 80(!) students from the program have congregated here in Madrid for a few days to grow accustomed to the time zone change (I’m waking up as you’re going to asleep!), wade through school and Spain information, and tour some of the beautiful cites of this country rich in history and heritage.
I arrived on Monday morning to Madrid with lost luggage, so I have gone three days in the same clothes and with only a toothbrush. However, it did not prevent me from meeting some fun people and touring some spectacular places. On the flight to Madrid from JFK, I sat with a young woman who spoke a little English, but quickly switched to lightning bolt fast Spanish when she figured out that I spoke a little Spanish. So, for seven hours, she talked to me in Spanish about New York, her life in Madrid, her boyfriends, her favorite songs- the whole gamut. As I sat on that plane overnight, I was struck once again by the “rugged individualism” of Americans. On domestic flights, travelers stick to themselves, and if they do exchange words, they are often only small pleasantries. But on an international flight to a Spanish-speaking country, it is as if you have come to the family reunion. People are talking across rows and aisles, laughing, interested in your travels, and, like my friend, excited to share their life with you. So, the inauguration to the language and culture came quickly, somewhere over the great abyss of the Atlantic Ocean.
On Monday, I ventured with some people around the city of Madrid, the capital and literal center of the country. The Plaza del Sol is the middle point of the country. The Plaza Mayor was constructed by Felipe II. It features a statue of Felipe IV, another King of Spain. The Plaza has frescoed walls, which are illuminated by night. The Plaza Mayor was the center of Felipe’s Spain, including everything from festivals to executions. It still plays an important role in the life of this city. Our hotel is right around the corner from the park to the right side of the Royal Palace. Of incredible size, the King of Spain does not live in this palace, but it is still used for official use. It sits atop a hill and is visible from much of city- a giant landmark. Directly behind the Royal Palace is the Cathedral. The 50 meters that separate these great landmarks are an interesting commentary on the separation of church and state, or maybe the lack thereof.
Tuesday we visited El Escorial, a monastery outside of Madrid. It had snowed that morning and was frigid the entire day. A monastery constructed of marble, concrete, and stone was an imposing presence in the small town.
We had a wonderfully long lunch (my new favorite!) in a small family restaurant. The father served, mother and grandmother cooked, and daughter and boyfriend cleaned. The meal was the traditional bread, first of soup, second of garlic roasted chicken, dessert, and vino for 8.00 euro. The meal lasts a good hour and half, and they never bring you the check. It is as if they don’t want to rush you on or out, but want you to stay as long as you choose. Refreshing. The previous night I had salmon- so very fresh. It was like they had cut the fish down the middle, and then continued to slice the fish the long way. I got a great fillet from the side with all the scaly skin still on. No eyes, though.
The El Escorial is still a monastery and a school, but it is also the burial site for all of the Bourbon Kings and Queens. It is the home to the second best library after the Vatican as well. Within this Monastery is a cathedral with four organs and four marble columns of marble the size the office in our house. Lotsa marble, all brought in by hand.
Check out the photo album at http://picasaweb.google.com/sgauche/
I’m here safely and soundly, and received my bags late last night. I’m on to fresh clothes and a new day!
I arrived on Monday morning to Madrid with lost luggage, so I have gone three days in the same clothes and with only a toothbrush. However, it did not prevent me from meeting some fun people and touring some spectacular places. On the flight to Madrid from JFK, I sat with a young woman who spoke a little English, but quickly switched to lightning bolt fast Spanish when she figured out that I spoke a little Spanish. So, for seven hours, she talked to me in Spanish about New York, her life in Madrid, her boyfriends, her favorite songs- the whole gamut. As I sat on that plane overnight, I was struck once again by the “rugged individualism” of Americans. On domestic flights, travelers stick to themselves, and if they do exchange words, they are often only small pleasantries. But on an international flight to a Spanish-speaking country, it is as if you have come to the family reunion. People are talking across rows and aisles, laughing, interested in your travels, and, like my friend, excited to share their life with you. So, the inauguration to the language and culture came quickly, somewhere over the great abyss of the Atlantic Ocean.
On Monday, I ventured with some people around the city of Madrid, the capital and literal center of the country. The Plaza del Sol is the middle point of the country. The Plaza Mayor was constructed by Felipe II. It features a statue of Felipe IV, another King of Spain. The Plaza has frescoed walls, which are illuminated by night. The Plaza Mayor was the center of Felipe’s Spain, including everything from festivals to executions. It still plays an important role in the life of this city. Our hotel is right around the corner from the park to the right side of the Royal Palace. Of incredible size, the King of Spain does not live in this palace, but it is still used for official use. It sits atop a hill and is visible from much of city- a giant landmark. Directly behind the Royal Palace is the Cathedral. The 50 meters that separate these great landmarks are an interesting commentary on the separation of church and state, or maybe the lack thereof.
Tuesday we visited El Escorial, a monastery outside of Madrid. It had snowed that morning and was frigid the entire day. A monastery constructed of marble, concrete, and stone was an imposing presence in the small town.
We had a wonderfully long lunch (my new favorite!) in a small family restaurant. The father served, mother and grandmother cooked, and daughter and boyfriend cleaned. The meal was the traditional bread, first of soup, second of garlic roasted chicken, dessert, and vino for 8.00 euro. The meal lasts a good hour and half, and they never bring you the check. It is as if they don’t want to rush you on or out, but want you to stay as long as you choose. Refreshing. The previous night I had salmon- so very fresh. It was like they had cut the fish down the middle, and then continued to slice the fish the long way. I got a great fillet from the side with all the scaly skin still on. No eyes, though.
The El Escorial is still a monastery and a school, but it is also the burial site for all of the Bourbon Kings and Queens. It is the home to the second best library after the Vatican as well. Within this Monastery is a cathedral with four organs and four marble columns of marble the size the office in our house. Lotsa marble, all brought in by hand.
Check out the photo album at http://picasaweb.google.com/sgauche/
I’m here safely and soundly, and received my bags late last night. I’m on to fresh clothes and a new day!
Beginnings
It is the dawn of a second full day in Madrid. I’m nestled into a tiny little hotel room in the heart of the city. The 80(!) students from the program have congregated here in Madrid for a few days to grow accustomed to the time zone change (I’m waking up as you’re going to asleep!), wade through school and Spain information, and tour some of the beautiful cites of this country rich in history and heritage.
I arrived on Monday morning to Madrid with lost luggage, so I have gone three days in the same clothes and with only a toothbrush. However, it did not prevent me from meeting some fun people and touring some spectacular places. On the flight to Madrid from JFK, I sat with a young woman who spoke a little English, but quickly switched to lightning bolt fast Spanish when she figured out that I spoke a little Spanish. So, for seven hours, she talked to me in Spanish about New York, her life in Madrid, her boyfriends, her favorite songs- the whole gamut. As I sat on that plane overnight, I was struck once again by the “rugged individualism” of Americans. On domestic flights, travelers stick to themselves, and if they do exchange words, they are often only small pleasantries. But on an international flight to a Spanish-speaking country, it is as if you have come to the family reunion. People are talking across rows and aisles, laughing, interested in your travels, and, like my friend, excited to share their life with you. So, the inauguration to the language and culture came quickly, somewhere over the great abyss of the Atlantic Ocean.
On Monday, I ventured with some people around the city of Madrid, the capital and literal center of the country. The Plaza del Sol is the middle point of the country. The Plaza Mayor was constructed by Felipe II. It features a statue of Felipe IV, another King of Spain. The Plaza has frescoed walls, which are illuminated by night. The Plaza Mayor was the center of Felipe’s Spain, including everything from festivals to executions. It still plays an important role in the life of this city. Our hotel is right around the corner from the park to the right side of the Royal Palace. Of incredible size, the King of Spain does not live in this palace, but it is still used for official use. It sits atop a hill and is visible from much of city- a giant landmark. Directly behind the Royal Palace is the Cathedral. The 50 meters that separate these great landmarks are an interesting commentary on the separation of church and state, or maybe the lack thereof.
Tuesday we visited El Escorial, a monastery outside of Madrid. It had snowed that morning and was frigid the entire day. A monastery constructed of marble, concrete, and stone was an imposing presence in the small town.
We had a wonderfully long lunch (my new favorite!) in a small family restaurant. The father served, mother and grandmother cooked, and daughter and boyfriend cleaned. The meal was the traditional bread, first of soup, second of garlic roasted chicken, dessert, and vino for 8.00 euro. The meal lasts a good hour and half, and they never bring you the check. It is as if they don’t want to rush you on or out, but want you to stay as long as you choose. Refreshing. The previous night I had salmon- so very fresh. It was like they had cut the fish down the middle, and then continued to slice the fish the long way. I got a great fillet from the side with all the scaly skin still on. No eyes, though.
The El Escorial is still a monastery and a school, but it is also the burial site for all of the Bourbon Kings and Queens. It is the home to the second best library after the Vatican as well. Within this Monastery is a cathedral with four organs and four marble columns of marble the size the office in our house. Lotsa marble, all brought in by hand.
Check out the photo album at http://picasaweb.google.com/sgauche/
I’m here safely and soundly, and received my bags late last night. I’m on to fresh clothes and a new day!
I arrived on Monday morning to Madrid with lost luggage, so I have gone three days in the same clothes and with only a toothbrush. However, it did not prevent me from meeting some fun people and touring some spectacular places. On the flight to Madrid from JFK, I sat with a young woman who spoke a little English, but quickly switched to lightning bolt fast Spanish when she figured out that I spoke a little Spanish. So, for seven hours, she talked to me in Spanish about New York, her life in Madrid, her boyfriends, her favorite songs- the whole gamut. As I sat on that plane overnight, I was struck once again by the “rugged individualism” of Americans. On domestic flights, travelers stick to themselves, and if they do exchange words, they are often only small pleasantries. But on an international flight to a Spanish-speaking country, it is as if you have come to the family reunion. People are talking across rows and aisles, laughing, interested in your travels, and, like my friend, excited to share their life with you. So, the inauguration to the language and culture came quickly, somewhere over the great abyss of the Atlantic Ocean.
On Monday, I ventured with some people around the city of Madrid, the capital and literal center of the country. The Plaza del Sol is the middle point of the country. The Plaza Mayor was constructed by Felipe II. It features a statue of Felipe IV, another King of Spain. The Plaza has frescoed walls, which are illuminated by night. The Plaza Mayor was the center of Felipe’s Spain, including everything from festivals to executions. It still plays an important role in the life of this city. Our hotel is right around the corner from the park to the right side of the Royal Palace. Of incredible size, the King of Spain does not live in this palace, but it is still used for official use. It sits atop a hill and is visible from much of city- a giant landmark. Directly behind the Royal Palace is the Cathedral. The 50 meters that separate these great landmarks are an interesting commentary on the separation of church and state, or maybe the lack thereof.
Tuesday we visited El Escorial, a monastery outside of Madrid. It had snowed that morning and was frigid the entire day. A monastery constructed of marble, concrete, and stone was an imposing presence in the small town.
We had a wonderfully long lunch (my new favorite!) in a small family restaurant. The father served, mother and grandmother cooked, and daughter and boyfriend cleaned. The meal was the traditional bread, first of soup, second of garlic roasted chicken, dessert, and vino for 8.00 euro. The meal lasts a good hour and half, and they never bring you the check. It is as if they don’t want to rush you on or out, but want you to stay as long as you choose. Refreshing. The previous night I had salmon- so very fresh. It was like they had cut the fish down the middle, and then continued to slice the fish the long way. I got a great fillet from the side with all the scaly skin still on. No eyes, though.
The El Escorial is still a monastery and a school, but it is also the burial site for all of the Bourbon Kings and Queens. It is the home to the second best library after the Vatican as well. Within this Monastery is a cathedral with four organs and four marble columns of marble the size the office in our house. Lotsa marble, all brought in by hand.
Check out the photo album at http://picasaweb.google.com/sgauche/
I’m here safely and soundly, and received my bags late last night. I’m on to fresh clothes and a new day!
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Think on this.
Perhaps what’s crazy is what we’re doing and pursuing instead- thinking, after all these millennia, that hate can conquer hate, war cure war, pride overcome pride, violence end violence, revenge stop revenge, and exclusion create cohesion.
Brian McLaren, The Secret Message of Jesus
Brian McLaren, The Secret Message of Jesus
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Uncommon Ordinary
I like to think I am open to adventure, and that there is a spirit inside of me that revels in the glory of said adventure. To most, adventure is something we seek out, like a trip to the Boundary Waters and its uncharted waters or a climb to the top of Pike's Peak. But if the world really is so big, wide, and open, then adventures await us anywhere, no? So maybe we are meant not to seek it out, but rather to let it find us. I become concerned when we begin to think that we must go somewhere or do something in order to obtain that adventure. I’m wondering if there may be another type of adventure in living in one place and continually renewing it your mind: shopping at the same Byerly’s or Publix, driving the same commute each day, but allowing it to be an adventure- or a chance to see the world in a different way. While this all borders on cheesy, I think this is valid: we live the lives we choose. So, I choose adventure, whether that be in Morocco or in my commute. I choose to make the small adventures count; the everyday adventures speak.
I found this to me true just the other day, as I, one about to embark on a journey to another continent, another language, and another culture walked into a yoga class at the local gym. I am fairly new to yoga, having practiced it a handful of times before I suddenly made it my new fad last month. And while I cannot put my body into the Lotus, I am working on a handstand, and finding that hour of my day to be one of counter cultural peace and solitude. Just as the new awareness yoga has brought to me of my body (now I really sound weird!), I have been able to embrace some of the centering spiritual aspects of the practice. But I wasn’t prepared for our instructor’s prompting at the end of class one day to sit in a circle so we might chant.
Ok, so this is when the little Sarah inside is saying, “Time to suddenly have to leave early!” In that moment, I would have run three marathons back to back to avoid the agony of what our instructor had just suggested. Again, I am new to yoga. And I don’t know any of these people. The last thing I want to do is sit in a circle with my knees touching those sitting next to me chanting anything. Where have their knees been today? As it turns out, very few were comfortable with sitting in a circle and chanting. One woman remarked as we closed our eyes, “We’re Minnesotans. How can you expect us to do this!?!” But we did it. And in that odd, yet faintly sacred moment of sitting knee to knee with no I knew, it was as if community suddenly entered. For a small minute, there was meaningful human connection.
Maybe it is because I am a Minnesotan that sitting in a circle with random people chanting was an adventure for me- and for many in that circle. Yet, in our insular lives of gym, car, work, email, cell phone, car, home, it is easy to escape the adventure and discomfort of actually engaging in our present community. I can almost operate on a day-to-day basis with little to no significant human interaction if I so choose, and I might I venture to guess you might be able to as well? This circle thing freaked me out as I was suddenly confronted with that disheartening reality. That growing and stretching (quite literally!) moment in that class imprinted itself on my mind. The understanding that no adventure is too small and no circumstance too mundane was significant to me; it was a gentle reminder that while I am off to new lands and sights, there is adventure in community, its interactions and its everydayness.
One of my dear friends who is in to yoga once exclaimed to me, “Sarah, you would experience a higher quality of life if you practiced yoga.” I chuckled at her statement, writing it off as the part of the overwhelming granola-feel to the town I was living in. (There, EVERYONE did yoga.) However, her little statement has stuck with me, and I have come to realize that she might have something right. Pushing the boundaries of your comfortable self doesn’t require a trip up Everest or even a spontaneous road trip, but maybe the more difficult task of pausing a second longer to engage in that conversation, putting the cell phone down, taking the ear buds out, or- well, I don’t know, signing up for a yoga class.
I found this to me true just the other day, as I, one about to embark on a journey to another continent, another language, and another culture walked into a yoga class at the local gym. I am fairly new to yoga, having practiced it a handful of times before I suddenly made it my new fad last month. And while I cannot put my body into the Lotus, I am working on a handstand, and finding that hour of my day to be one of counter cultural peace and solitude. Just as the new awareness yoga has brought to me of my body (now I really sound weird!), I have been able to embrace some of the centering spiritual aspects of the practice. But I wasn’t prepared for our instructor’s prompting at the end of class one day to sit in a circle so we might chant.
Ok, so this is when the little Sarah inside is saying, “Time to suddenly have to leave early!” In that moment, I would have run three marathons back to back to avoid the agony of what our instructor had just suggested. Again, I am new to yoga. And I don’t know any of these people. The last thing I want to do is sit in a circle with my knees touching those sitting next to me chanting anything. Where have their knees been today? As it turns out, very few were comfortable with sitting in a circle and chanting. One woman remarked as we closed our eyes, “We’re Minnesotans. How can you expect us to do this!?!” But we did it. And in that odd, yet faintly sacred moment of sitting knee to knee with no I knew, it was as if community suddenly entered. For a small minute, there was meaningful human connection.
Maybe it is because I am a Minnesotan that sitting in a circle with random people chanting was an adventure for me- and for many in that circle. Yet, in our insular lives of gym, car, work, email, cell phone, car, home, it is easy to escape the adventure and discomfort of actually engaging in our present community. I can almost operate on a day-to-day basis with little to no significant human interaction if I so choose, and I might I venture to guess you might be able to as well? This circle thing freaked me out as I was suddenly confronted with that disheartening reality. That growing and stretching (quite literally!) moment in that class imprinted itself on my mind. The understanding that no adventure is too small and no circumstance too mundane was significant to me; it was a gentle reminder that while I am off to new lands and sights, there is adventure in community, its interactions and its everydayness.
One of my dear friends who is in to yoga once exclaimed to me, “Sarah, you would experience a higher quality of life if you practiced yoga.” I chuckled at her statement, writing it off as the part of the overwhelming granola-feel to the town I was living in. (There, EVERYONE did yoga.) However, her little statement has stuck with me, and I have come to realize that she might have something right. Pushing the boundaries of your comfortable self doesn’t require a trip up Everest or even a spontaneous road trip, but maybe the more difficult task of pausing a second longer to engage in that conversation, putting the cell phone down, taking the ear buds out, or- well, I don’t know, signing up for a yoga class.
Monday, January 8, 2007
Andalucía por sí, para España y la humanidad: Andalusia by herself, for Spain, and for humankind
Andalusia
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Andalusia (Spanish: Andalucía) is an autonomous community of Spain. Andalusia is the most populated and second largest of the seventeen autonomous communities that constitute Spain. Its capital is Seville. Andalusia is bounded on the north by Extremadura and Castilla-La Mancha; on the east by Murcia and the Mediterranean Sea; on the west by Portugal and the Atlantic Ocean (south-west); on the south by the Mediterranean Sea (south-east) and the Atlantic Ocean (south-west) linked by the Strait of Gibraltar at the very south which separates Spain from Morocco. The British colony of Gibraltar at the south shares its three-quarter-mile land border with the Andalusian province of Cádiz.
Tartessos, the capital of a once great and powerful Tartessian Civilization, was located in Andalusia. More information about this region can be found in the entry Hispania Baetica, the name of the Roman province that corresponds to the region.
Andalusian culture has been deeply marked by the eight centuries of Muslim rule over the region, which ended in 1492 with the conquest of Granada by the Catholic monarchs.
The Spanish spoken in the Americas is largely descended from the Andalusian dialect of Spanish due to the role played by Seville as the gateway to Spain's American territories in the 16th and 17th centuries.
Andalusia is known for its Moorish architecture. Famous monuments include the Alhambra in Granada, the Mezquita in Córdoba, the Torre del Oro and Giralda towers and the Reales Alcázares in Seville, and the Alcazaba (Málaga) in Málaga. Archaeological remains include Medina Azahara, near Córdoba and Itálica, near Seville and Huelva port of the America discovery
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Andalusia (Spanish: Andalucía) is an autonomous community of Spain. Andalusia is the most populated and second largest of the seventeen autonomous communities that constitute Spain. Its capital is Seville. Andalusia is bounded on the north by Extremadura and Castilla-La Mancha; on the east by Murcia and the Mediterranean Sea; on the west by Portugal and the Atlantic Ocean (south-west); on the south by the Mediterranean Sea (south-east) and the Atlantic Ocean (south-west) linked by the Strait of Gibraltar at the very south which separates Spain from Morocco. The British colony of Gibraltar at the south shares its three-quarter-mile land border with the Andalusian province of Cádiz.
Tartessos, the capital of a once great and powerful Tartessian Civilization, was located in Andalusia. More information about this region can be found in the entry Hispania Baetica, the name of the Roman province that corresponds to the region.
Andalusian culture has been deeply marked by the eight centuries of Muslim rule over the region, which ended in 1492 with the conquest of Granada by the Catholic monarchs.
The Spanish spoken in the Americas is largely descended from the Andalusian dialect of Spanish due to the role played by Seville as the gateway to Spain's American territories in the 16th and 17th centuries.
Andalusia is known for its Moorish architecture. Famous monuments include the Alhambra in Granada, the Mezquita in Córdoba, the Torre del Oro and Giralda towers and the Reales Alcázares in Seville, and the Alcazaba (Málaga) in Málaga. Archaeological remains include Medina Azahara, near Córdoba and Itálica, near Seville and Huelva port of the America discovery
Background
Moors
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
The Moors were the medieval Muslim inhabitants of al-Andalus (the Iberian Peninsula including present day Spain and Portugal) as well as the Maghreb and western Africa, whose culture is often called Moorish. The word was also used more generally in Europe to refer to anyone of Arab or African descent. The name Moors derives from the ancient tribe of the Maure and their kingdom Mauretania.
In 711, the Moors invaded Visigoth, Christian Hispania. Under their leader, an African Berber general named Tariq ibn-Ziyad, they brought most of the Iberian Peninsula under Islamic rule in an eight-year campaign. They attempted to move northeast across the Pyrenees Mountains but were defeated by the Frank, Charles Martel, at the Battle of Tours in 732. The Moorish state suffered civil conflict in the 750s. The Moors ruled in the Iberian peninsula, except for areas in the northwest (such as Asturias, where they were stopped at the battle of Covadonga) and the largely Basque regions in the Pyrenees, and in North Africa for several decades. Though the number of "Moors" remained small, they gained large numbers of converts. According to Ronald Segal, author of "Islam's Black Slaves", some 5.6 million of Iberia's 7 million inhabitants were Muslim by 1200, virtually all of them native inhabitants.
The country then broke up into a number of mostly Islamic fiefdoms, which were consolidated under the Caliphate of Cordoba. Christian states based in the north and west slowly extended their power over the rest of Iberia. The Kingdom of Asturias, Navarre, Galicia, León, Portugal, Aragón, Catalonia or Marca Hispanica, and Castile started a steady process of expansion and internal consolidation during the next several centuries under the flag of Reconquista. The initial rule of the Moors in the Iberian peninsula under this Caliphate of Cordoba is generally regarded as tolerant in its acceptance of Christians, Muslims and Jews living in the same territories, though Jews were expelled in various periods and Christians relegated to 2nd class status under Muslims. The Caliphate of Córdoba collapsed in 1031 and the Islamic territory in Iberia came to be ruled by North African Moors of the Almoravid Dynasty. This second stage started an era of Moors rulers guided by orthodox Islam leaving behind the more tolerant practices of the past.
Moorish Iberia excelled in city planning; the sophistication of their cities was astonishing. According to one historian, Cordova "had 471 mosques and 300 public baths … the number of houses of the great and noble were 63,000 and 200,077 of the common people. There were … upwards of 80,000 shops. Water from the mountain was distributed through every corner and quarter of the city by means of leaden pipes into basins of different shapes, made of the purest gold, the finest silver, or plated brass as well into vast lakes, curios tanks, amazing reservoirs and fountains of Grecian marble." The houses of Cordova were air conditioned in the summer by "ingeniously arranged draughts of fresh air drawn from the garden over beds of flowers, chosen for their perfume, warmed in winter by hot air conveyed through pipes bedded in the walls." This list of impressive works includes lamp posts that lit their streets at night to grand palaces, such as the one called Azzahra with its 15,000 doors.[1] Without a doubt, during the height of the Caliphate of Córdoba, the city of Córdoba proper was one of the major capitals in Europe and probably the most cosmopolitan city of its time.
In 1212, a coalition of Christian kings under the leadership of Alfonso VIII of Castile drove the Muslims from Central Iberia. However, the Moorish Kingdom of Granada thrived for three more centuries in the southern Iberian peninsula. This kingdom is known in modern time for architectural gems such as the Alhambra. On January 2, 1492, the leader of the last Muslim stronghold in Granada surrendered to armies of a recently united Christian Spain (after the marriage of Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castile). The remaining Muslims were forced to leave Iberia or convert to Christianity. In 1480, Isabella and Ferdinand instituted the Inquisition in Spain, as one of many changes to the role of the church instituted by the monarchs. The Inquisition was aimed mostly at Jews and Muslims who had overtly converted to Christianity but were thought to be practicing their faiths secretly -- known respectively as morranos and moriscos -- as well as at heretics who rejected Roman Catholic orthodoxy, including alumbras who practiced a kind of mysticism or spiritualism. They were an important portion of the peasants in some territories, like Aragon, Valencia or Andalusia, until their systematic expulsion in the years from 1609 to 1614. Henri Lapeyre has estimated that this affected 300,000 out of a total of 8 million inhabitants of the peninsula at the time.[2]
In the meantime, the tide of Islam had rolled not just westward to Iberia, but also eastward, through India, the Malayan peninsula, and Indonesia up to Mindanao-—one of the major islands of an archipelago which the Spanish had reached during their voyages westward from the New World. By 1521, the ships of Magellan had themselves reached that island archipelago, which they named the Philippines, after Philip II of Spain. On Mindanao, the Spanish also named these kris-bearing people as Moros, or 'Moors'. This identification of Islamic people as Moros persists in the modern Spanish language spoken in Spain. See Reconquista.
Origins
The Roman Term "Maur" described the native inhabitants of North Africa west of modern Tunisia. Ancient to modern authors, as well as portraits, show them with a variety of features, just as the modern population contains. This was contrasted with other peoples described as "Aethiopes", or Ethiopians, who lived further south, and Egyptians, or "Aegyptus". As described above, they composed a variety of peoples in this region who probably had origins in the Sahara when it desiccated in the late Holocene period. Whether they were light skinned and blond hair, dark skinned, or somewhere in between, Dr. Keita has noted that this diversity was indigenous to the North African region, and not the result of foreign settlement (Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Arabs).
Tariq ibn-Ziyad, born of a Berber chief, rose to the rank of general in the Moorish army and led an invasion to Iberia. On April 30, 711, Tarik and his forces landed on the Mediterranean coast of the peninsula with 7,000 troops. He immediately ordered the burning of the boats. This was done to assure his troops that there would either be victory or death.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
The Moors were the medieval Muslim inhabitants of al-Andalus (the Iberian Peninsula including present day Spain and Portugal) as well as the Maghreb and western Africa, whose culture is often called Moorish. The word was also used more generally in Europe to refer to anyone of Arab or African descent. The name Moors derives from the ancient tribe of the Maure and their kingdom Mauretania.
In 711, the Moors invaded Visigoth, Christian Hispania. Under their leader, an African Berber general named Tariq ibn-Ziyad, they brought most of the Iberian Peninsula under Islamic rule in an eight-year campaign. They attempted to move northeast across the Pyrenees Mountains but were defeated by the Frank, Charles Martel, at the Battle of Tours in 732. The Moorish state suffered civil conflict in the 750s. The Moors ruled in the Iberian peninsula, except for areas in the northwest (such as Asturias, where they were stopped at the battle of Covadonga) and the largely Basque regions in the Pyrenees, and in North Africa for several decades. Though the number of "Moors" remained small, they gained large numbers of converts. According to Ronald Segal, author of "Islam's Black Slaves", some 5.6 million of Iberia's 7 million inhabitants were Muslim by 1200, virtually all of them native inhabitants.
The country then broke up into a number of mostly Islamic fiefdoms, which were consolidated under the Caliphate of Cordoba. Christian states based in the north and west slowly extended their power over the rest of Iberia. The Kingdom of Asturias, Navarre, Galicia, León, Portugal, Aragón, Catalonia or Marca Hispanica, and Castile started a steady process of expansion and internal consolidation during the next several centuries under the flag of Reconquista. The initial rule of the Moors in the Iberian peninsula under this Caliphate of Cordoba is generally regarded as tolerant in its acceptance of Christians, Muslims and Jews living in the same territories, though Jews were expelled in various periods and Christians relegated to 2nd class status under Muslims. The Caliphate of Córdoba collapsed in 1031 and the Islamic territory in Iberia came to be ruled by North African Moors of the Almoravid Dynasty. This second stage started an era of Moors rulers guided by orthodox Islam leaving behind the more tolerant practices of the past.
Moorish Iberia excelled in city planning; the sophistication of their cities was astonishing. According to one historian, Cordova "had 471 mosques and 300 public baths … the number of houses of the great and noble were 63,000 and 200,077 of the common people. There were … upwards of 80,000 shops. Water from the mountain was distributed through every corner and quarter of the city by means of leaden pipes into basins of different shapes, made of the purest gold, the finest silver, or plated brass as well into vast lakes, curios tanks, amazing reservoirs and fountains of Grecian marble." The houses of Cordova were air conditioned in the summer by "ingeniously arranged draughts of fresh air drawn from the garden over beds of flowers, chosen for their perfume, warmed in winter by hot air conveyed through pipes bedded in the walls." This list of impressive works includes lamp posts that lit their streets at night to grand palaces, such as the one called Azzahra with its 15,000 doors.[1] Without a doubt, during the height of the Caliphate of Córdoba, the city of Córdoba proper was one of the major capitals in Europe and probably the most cosmopolitan city of its time.
In 1212, a coalition of Christian kings under the leadership of Alfonso VIII of Castile drove the Muslims from Central Iberia. However, the Moorish Kingdom of Granada thrived for three more centuries in the southern Iberian peninsula. This kingdom is known in modern time for architectural gems such as the Alhambra. On January 2, 1492, the leader of the last Muslim stronghold in Granada surrendered to armies of a recently united Christian Spain (after the marriage of Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castile). The remaining Muslims were forced to leave Iberia or convert to Christianity. In 1480, Isabella and Ferdinand instituted the Inquisition in Spain, as one of many changes to the role of the church instituted by the monarchs. The Inquisition was aimed mostly at Jews and Muslims who had overtly converted to Christianity but were thought to be practicing their faiths secretly -- known respectively as morranos and moriscos -- as well as at heretics who rejected Roman Catholic orthodoxy, including alumbras who practiced a kind of mysticism or spiritualism. They were an important portion of the peasants in some territories, like Aragon, Valencia or Andalusia, until their systematic expulsion in the years from 1609 to 1614. Henri Lapeyre has estimated that this affected 300,000 out of a total of 8 million inhabitants of the peninsula at the time.[2]
In the meantime, the tide of Islam had rolled not just westward to Iberia, but also eastward, through India, the Malayan peninsula, and Indonesia up to Mindanao-—one of the major islands of an archipelago which the Spanish had reached during their voyages westward from the New World. By 1521, the ships of Magellan had themselves reached that island archipelago, which they named the Philippines, after Philip II of Spain. On Mindanao, the Spanish also named these kris-bearing people as Moros, or 'Moors'. This identification of Islamic people as Moros persists in the modern Spanish language spoken in Spain. See Reconquista.
Origins
The Roman Term "Maur" described the native inhabitants of North Africa west of modern Tunisia. Ancient to modern authors, as well as portraits, show them with a variety of features, just as the modern population contains. This was contrasted with other peoples described as "Aethiopes", or Ethiopians, who lived further south, and Egyptians, or "Aegyptus". As described above, they composed a variety of peoples in this region who probably had origins in the Sahara when it desiccated in the late Holocene period. Whether they were light skinned and blond hair, dark skinned, or somewhere in between, Dr. Keita has noted that this diversity was indigenous to the North African region, and not the result of foreign settlement (Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Arabs).
Tariq ibn-Ziyad, born of a Berber chief, rose to the rank of general in the Moorish army and led an invasion to Iberia. On April 30, 711, Tarik and his forces landed on the Mediterranean coast of the peninsula with 7,000 troops. He immediately ordered the burning of the boats. This was done to assure his troops that there would either be victory or death.
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