Nerja - In which I turn 22 and celebrate on the beach

This weekend I waited anxiously as my 22nd birthday approached. I'm a bit young for it, but every birthday brings a bit of an existential crisis for me. When I turned 20, it was "Elijah Wood was Frodo at 19, what have I done with my life?" When I turned 21 it was "Oh my goodness I'm no longer in my teenage years (I realize I had skipped that at 20 but I felt it most poignantly at 21) I am now old enough to do a bunch of things and did I miss a portion of my life?" I later came to the conclusion that I was just fine. Turning 22 turned out to be more like "Oh my goodness, approaching adulthood, what does that even look like huh?" But, as with all birthdays, it came, it went, the world did not end, and I actually had a wonderful time. 

So, with the impending doom of my 22nd birthday before me, I decided to take the weekend and go visit the beach. It was a rather spur the moment trip, so although I had initially planned on going to Valencia, fate intervened and I ended up on the Costa del Sol in Nerja with a couple of friends. It was exactly what we all needed.

 Nerja is a precious little beach town in Malaga that boasts white buildings, sandy beaches, a relaxed vibe, and apparently some really awesome caves which I missed and have been severely chastised for. As it is, I was completely enamored with the color of the water and the sand and was more than content to lay in the sun.

By the beach, there is a beautiful cliff (a small one, but still) where all the buildings and the edge overlook the water and the mountains behind it. Before coming to Spain, the only place that I had seen mountains and ocean together was Acadia National Park in Maine. I thought that was a paradise, too cold to swim, but beautiful in its mixture of my two favorite things. Here, this phenomenon is only improved by the presence of the sun which so often escapes Maine.

 Every day in the center there was a man creating the most massive bubbles. Adults and children alike stopped to marvel at the iridescent beauty wafting across the warm breeze. 

 Though this place is most likely clogged with tourists come summer, in mid April it buzzed with enough life to not feel deserted, but also felt a bit like your own private beach town. 

 The pace of life, as in most of Andalucía, seemed slower. With the sound of the ocean and the sun, it is no surprise. It feels like the perfect environment to lay down, stair at the ocean, read a book, or sit by the sea and play some music.

 Overall, the weekend was absolutely idyllic. I had a wonderful 22nd birthday and look forward to the year ahead, even if I have to figure out what life looks like after college in the process. In the meantime, I'll just have to enjoy the small moments of calm that come my way, like a couple days at the beach in Nerja. 

Granada (mostly the Alhambra) - In which I marvel at the past and wish I were as cool as Washington Irving

The morning that we were supposed to go to the Alhambra had all of the makings of a disappointing trip to a palace that is mostly outdoors. The weather was threatening rain in typically sunny Andalucía, and the only time we had been able to get into the Alhambra as a group was 9 in the morning, which meant waking up much earlier than most college students would prefer. Yet as we got closer to the Alhambra, the excitement mounted as some students who had dreamed of seeing this marvel for years neared the fulfillment of their study abroad aspirations. 

Though not empty, the palace was nicely calm as an early morning ticket meant that most of the tourists hadn't gotten up yet. The many pools around this last fortress of the Arabs in Spain were tranquil and reflected the splendor of the surrounding buildings as they are meant to. As our guide explained, this is a culture that came from the desert before conquering Spain. With that knowledge, what is the most important thing? For this reason, water can be found winding its way through the courtyards of the Alhambra just like it can be found in the courtyard of the Mezquita and the Cathedral of Sevilla, where there also used to be an old mosque.

 One of the things visiting Europe teaches you is to look up. There is always some unbelievably ornate ceiling escaping your view as you gawk at things at eye level. The Alhambra is no exception. While some ceilings are supposed to allude to the Arabic idea of seventh heaven, others will simply steal your breath and make you believe you are one step closer to reaching seventh heaven.

 The famous patio of the lions was a highpoint of the trip. This beautiful patio is where I learned that Carlos V of Spain had spent his honeymoon in the Alhambra. I was astonished and was quickly rewriting future life plans when the guide explained to me that Carlos V wife wasn't actually in the Alhambra with him. Their marriage, like so many, was a political marriage without romance, and she did not like the Alhambra (I immediately took a disliking to this horribly mistaken woman) and she had spent the honeymoon staying at a nearby monastery. I swallowed my fleeting image of a king's perfect honeymoon in the most beautiful castle in the world and moved on.

 The Alhambra is very open so that cool breezes waft through in the summer when the heat in Andalucía can become oppressive, but the palace isn't particularly appealing in the winter. This is what Carlos V discovered while living here when he needed to change rooms when winter came. He was particularly disgusted with the hassle, and instead decided to build another palace that was more closed and modern inside the Alhambra. He, however, never returned, and the palace went unfinished. However, it was the new palace in which Washington Irving lived for a month. When young, he read a book about Granada and was so enchanted with Spain that he decided to become an ambassador, and when he finally reached his goal he got to live in the Alhambra for a month, when he wrote about the Alhambra. This sparked so much interest that tourists started coming like crazy, and the Spanish government decided to save the palace that had fallen into disrepair (an aesthetic that the Romantics actually preferred). You can, however, find ruins on the same hill, of buildings that surrounded the Alhambra. They were destroyed by Napoleon out of spite when he was expelled from Spain. His reasoning: if he couldn't rule Spain, nobody should be able to rule it. 

 Washington Irving did a good job of enticing people to come. This is the most visited tourist attraction in Spain, and families, retired travelers, and goofy college students can all be seen wandering the historic grounds with a dumbstruck look on their faces.

 When you go to the Alhambra, there is actually a lot more than the actual palace on top of the hill, because the Alhambra is actually a city compiled of buildings from a lot of different periods. This means that you can wander around the gardens of this monument and take a glance at the other parts. Beneath it all lies the beautiful white city of Granada.

Amsterdam and the Netherlands - In which I connect with my roots

Arriving in Amsterdam was a surreal experience. As soon as I got off the plane, I suddenly no longer felt like the tallest person in the room, something I had gotten used to living in Spain for the past couple of months. Suddenly almost everyone was my height or taller, and almost everyone looked somewhat like someone who I had gone to high school with or that I had met at church. The language was different, yet not so different that it felt foreign, and although stepping out of the plane brought me to a world that I had never experienced, it all felt oddly homey. 

The unfortunate thing was that the weather while we were in Amsterdam was not spectacular. It was cold and rainy and pretty windy. This actually manage to make it feel even more like home. However, even the awful weather could not disguise the beauty of these streets, with the different types of roof tops and the sea of bikes lining every canal.

An unexpected highpoint were the many cafes. Fresh mint tea, carrot cake, pannekoeken, and not local things like Belgian waffles all stole my heart as mom and I took shelter in the gorgeous little cafes when the wind and cold became too much. With every cafe we visited, I became more and more convinced that even though the intrepid Dutch have to ride their bikes in such cold and blustery weather, they must still have it pretty good if at the end of the journey they can end up in one of these adorable holes in the wall.

Speaking of holes in the wall, we accidentally stumbled our way into a quite little passage off of Spui leading to Begijnhof, which is a quiet little residential area around a gorgeous courtyard. It is so peaceful and charming here that you forget that the city is outside, bustling with life.

After a couple of days in Amsterdam, we were lucky enough to go to Friesland to visit some relatives who we had never met before. Although Amsterdam is cool, this was definitely the highlight of the trip. It was such a pleasure to get to experience Dutch culture through the eyes of those who live there and to get to know such kind and generous people better. Driving through the countryside of Friesland was a rare treat that I feel many people don't get to experience when they just stop in Amsterdam.

We took some time to visit Westerbork because my family on my Grandpa's side was Jewish. Although my direct ancestors immigrated to America, all of the remaining family was shipped out of Westerbork to concentration camps, mostly Auschwitz, during WWII. I wasn't sure what to expect when we got there. There was very little left to see, the only original building the admirals house, covered in glass as if framing a moment in history while isolating us from the true experience of the camp, the only original building that of the oppressors, not the victims of this period of history.

The letters people wrote to family before they were shipped out of Westerbork to other concentration camps were particularly poignant. We were lucky to have people who could translate these heartbreaking letters to us.

The memorial there consisted of little bricks for each person who had passed through Westerbork, the size of the brick representing the age of the person when they died in the concentration camps. The places where there seem to be holes in the photo below are actually very short bricks, representing babies. The larger ones grandparents and elders of the town.

We got one last day in Amsterdam before returning to Spain. Although Amsterdam was much more full of life that last day as the weather had gotten a lot better, Mom and I both already missed our family in Friesland and were sad to have to leave a place that was already beginning to feel so much like a home we instinctively recognized somewhere in our DNA. Yah, sounds schmoozy, but as we walked through the streets of Amsterdam we went over Dutch and Frisch words we had learned with our relatives. The last day, we traveled to a couple different places, covering areas of Amsterdam that we previously hadn't spent a lot of time in. Somehow we ended up following these two performers around the city, bumping into them in multiple places. They exuded such excitement and life that I couldn't help but smile every time we encountered them again. And with the image of them in my head, I got on the plane, and flew back to Spain, where I stepped into the airport and felt like a giant once more.

Semana Santa - A delayed view of a time in which I fight crowds and experience magic

Before embarking on my trip to Amsterdam, I was lucky enough to have Palm Sunday in Spain. Córdoba is one of the best cities in which to see Semana Santa, or Holy Week. The week between Palm Sunday and Easter is filled with parades. The processions leave the churches morning noon and night, filled with people dressed in long gowns and tall caps with candles and the religious statues lifted on large floats and carried on the backs of men, and just recently women, for miles. These processions last long into the night, when you can hear the sounds of the bands echoing through the streets at one or two in the morning.

 The first procession we saw was in the morning on Palm Sunday. Though the outfits remind any visiting American of the KKK, the initial queasiness I felt soon disappeared as children ran up to the figures, asking them to drip wax from their candles onto little wax balls.

 Throughout the whole procession there was a sense of community, whether it was from the families standing on the sidelines together or the figures holding hands and marching behind the statues of Jesus and Mary.

 The churches were also open, proudly displaying the statues that would be paraded through the streets later in the week. With the combination of incense, streaming sunlight, and the beauty of the figures, you could practically taste the excitement of Semana Santa in the air.

 Those following the statues as they left the churches are incredibly devoted to their roles. This is an event that brings tears and smiles to the faces of the people of Córdoba every year.

 My favorite part of the processions, however, were the late night processions that wound their way around the beautiful Mezquita. The floodlights on the golden building combined with the candles and the palpable energy in the air made the evenings in Córdoba truly magical