"It's the same every year, packed with muggles of course."
Mrs. Weasley doesn't exaggerate when she makes that comment about King's Cross Station in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (or Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, as they call it here in the UK) by J.K. Rowling. It's packed, especially around the entrance to Platform 9 3/4, where muggles wait in a long line for a chance at running through the barrier. (Not really, as they have people working there, probably to prevent just that). If you're a Harry Potter fan, it's definitely worth a visit. You'll be given a Hogwarts scarf of your choice, then you're able to pose for a photo with your cart, owl cage included!
But if you want even more Harry Potter fun, definitely check out the WB Harry Potter Studio Tour. It is all sorts of magical.
You begin by watching a short film about how the books came to be movies. Afterwards, the screen rises, revealing the door to the Great Hall. You enter…
And yes, you're standing on the gigantic set of the Great Hall.
Set of the Great Hall.
Me, on the set of the Great Hall.
Afterwards, you move into a large studio, where you'll find the smaller sets: the Gryffindor Boys' Dormitory, Dumbledore's Office, the Potions Classroom, the Burrow's Kitchen, and the Ministry of Magic, among others.
After the Great Hall, the Potions Classroom was probably my favorite set. It's much larger than this one photo shows.
They had wigs for everyone, but I liked this Malfoy display the best :)
I could't resist taking a "selfie" in the Mirror of Erised.
You'll also get to see some really cool props: the Malfoys' wigs, the door to the Chamber of Secrets, the Triwizard Cup, some broomsticks, and my personal favorite, the Mirror of Erised. There's so much that it takes a good two hours just to get through this part.
Then it's off to a large courtyard, where you can take a break with a glass of butterbeer. This was my favorite part, not because of the butterbeer (though that is delicious), but because here is where you get to see (and even climb on, in a few cases) some of the best set pieces: the Weasley's flying Ford Anglia, the Knight Bus, 4 Privet Drive, Hagrid's motorbike, the Hogwarts bridge, the Potters' cottage, Tom Riddle's gravestone, and the giant chess pieces.
Josh and I ride Hagrid's motorbike, with the Knight Bus (and the Hogwarts bridge) behind us.
4 Privet Drive!
After that, you move into the creature room, where you'll encounter a wall of goblin masks, Fawkes the phoenix, Dobby, Buckbeak, and Aragog, among others. Afterwards, you'll get to take a stroll along the set of Diagon Alley. Finally, you end with the huge Hogwarts model, which they used for aerial shots of the castle.
The set of Diagon Alley, complete with Ollivander's, Flourish & Blotts, and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, among many others.
This Hogwarts model is HUGE.
If you're a big Harry Potter fan like me, you'll probably get teary-eyed.
We did a pretty thorough exploration of London, seeing all the major tourist sites and more, but the WB Harry Potter Studio Tour was by far my favorite! If you're in the area, definitely check it out!
I love Dalí, but I'm not sure if I love his paintings, or if I just love him. He's one of those figures who is so ridiculous, you just can't help but like him. Also, his gravity-defying mustache makes him a winner.
After Pablo Picasso, Dalí is probably Spain's most famous artist, best known for his work The Persistence of Memory, often referred to as "that painting with the melting clocks." There was a giant mural of it in my high school, so after seeing it every day, it's one of my favorite paintings. Do I have any idea what it means? Nope. But the melting clocks are fascinating.
The Persistence of Memory, completed 1931
Dalí was a surrealist, so he was into abstract ideas and images that weren't grounded in the real world. A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to visit the Dalí museum in Barcelona, Spain, where I got to see (and even touch, when it came to sculptures) some of his lesser known works.
To the left, you'll see Automobile Giving Birth to a Blind Horse Biting a Telephone. (Sorry for the poor quality photo, but photography isn't my strong point). Not sure what it means, if it means anything at all, but I think the title is hilarious. Also, very straightforward.
Look familiar? Dalí had quite a few obsessions, or so I gathered from my visit to the museum: horses, rhinoceroses, and melting clocks. The melting clocks are definitely what interest me most. Time melting away…Very cool. Also, interesting tidbit: the 20s (during which Dalí worked) marked the beginning of the world's obsession with time and prolonged youth (think works like Twilight Sleep or Tender is the Night). It's when time phrases became an essential part of our vocabulary: kill time, keep time, out of time, etc. So I have to wonder if Dalí, who finished ThePersistence of Memory in 1931, was commenting on this phenomenon.
He was also fascinated by horses, apparently. An entire room of the museum was dedicated to his paintings and sculptures about horses, many of them from famous stories. This painting features Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.
There was also a little hall dedicated rhinoceroses. When I saw Midnight in Paris, I didn't realize that he was, actually, a little obsessed with rhinoceroses. But alas, I was mistaken. Enjoy this awesome scene from an awesome movie, featuring Adrien Brody as Salvador Dalí:
WRITING
Picture prompts?
One of Dalí's paintings would be awesome inspiration for a picture prompt. I would love to read a story, or even a full length novel, based on The Persistence of Memory. Even just a world based on it. Who knows? Maybe one day I'll try my hand at writing it.
So I love history, and especially Latin American history, so instead of talking about Catalonia or comida or las Carlistas or a million other topics that begin with C, I'm going to share a little bit about one of Spain's most famous historical figures, Hernán Cortés.
Assuming you've taken some sort of history class, you probably know Cortés as the conquistador behind the fall of the Aztec Empire in Mexico. You might also know him as that guy from The Road to El Dorado (which is a great movie, by the way):
Right. So a Spanish version of Johnny Bravo. (Can you tell I'm a 90s kid?)
Anyway, history at its most basic will say that Cortés marched through Mexico to Tenochtitlan, the capital city of the Aztec Empire, and with only a few hundred men and some horses, took down thousands upon thousands of natives, largely due to the smallpox they brought with them.
But that's not what makes him interesting. Conquests had been going on for centuries, and though it's interesting that the Aztecs might have believed him to be a god (though there's a lot of speculation about that), it's not what intrigues me.
Hernán Cortés
Nope, I'm fascinated by this little anecdote:
In 1518 the governor of Cuba, Diego Velázquez, sent Cortés on an expedition to conquer Mexico, but soon changed his mind, and revoked his permission. Cortés ignored that, and when Velázquez arrived on the mainland in person to tell Cortés off, he replied with, "Sorry, gotta go," and quickly fled. He then founded a town and made himself leader, which hypothetically excused him from being under the Governor of Cuba's authority. Hypothetically.
Of course, some of his men had doubts. Cortés didn't exactly have experience leading an army, and who was he to defy the governor of Cuba? Cortés, sensing that many of his men wanted to desert, scuttled every ship except one, which he sent back to Spain, literally trapping everyone on mainland Mexico, with no choice but to proceed.
To me, this little anecdote is what makes him most interesting. Are these admirable actions? No, definitely not, especially considering that it led to the deaths of thousands of natives. But it was ridiculously courageous--and certainly insane--to scuttle his own ships, stranding himself and some 600 men in a place that very few Europeans had ever visited.
Don't get me wrong: by no means do I condone his actions. In fact, he's ranked pretty darn high on my list of historical jerkwads. But there's no denying that he was, well…a badass, at least in some respects.
Here in Spain, you'll find quite a few paintings and statues dedicated to him. The General Archive of the Indies in Seville is filled with them. It's definitely interesting, since in the U.S., his history is always tinted with negativity: "Hernán Cortés, a bad guy." Since being here, my opinions about that haven't changed--Cortés and the conquistadores brought a lot of misery--but it's strange to see memorials to them. But it goes both ways: Why is Andrew Jackson, the man behind the Trail of Tears, commemorated every time we pull out a twenty?
WRITING
There are two sides to every story.
America doesn't like Cortés. To most, he's a mass murderer. But to Spain he's technically a hero, even if nowadays a lot of Spaniards don't exactly approve of his actions. His conquest of Mexico was the beginning of Spaniards taking over the rest of mainland Latin America, save Brazil. Keep in mind that Spain only became one unified country in 1492, so how awesome must it have been for this brand new country to 1) "discover" the New World, and 2) exploit its resources until it was one of the richest nations around, which enabled it to have an armada to rival the British Navy. In less than a century, it went from being a cluster of very divided kingdoms, largely controlled by North African Arabs, to the most powerful empire in the world. An evil empire, according to the French and British, who felt both jealous and threatened. C is for Competition, right?
Spains rise to power, which has a lot to do with Cortés, reminds us that there are two sides to every story. A villain isn't a villain to everybody, and the same goes for heroes. The best characters are those whose good/evil alignment isn't clear, and it all depends on your point of view. The one that immediately comes to mind is Ben Linus from ABC's Lost. Three years after the end of the show, I still have no idea whether to consider him a good guy or a bad guy. ABC is doing it again with Once Upon a Time: Where on the scale does Rumplestiltskin/Mr. Gold lie? (Interestingly, these characters also tend to be the best actors).
Ben Linus, played by Michael Emerson, from ABC's LOST
How about Javert from Les Miserables? He is the "bad guy" of the novel/musical/movie, but if you look at the story from his perspective, he's doing what society normally approves of: attempting to stop a wanted thief. If Les Miz were not fiction, but was a true story playing out in our own modern society, we would probably applaud Javert for seeking a potentially dangerous criminal.
"Of course not," you might say. "Jean Valjean is a really good man."
"Yeah," I'd reply. "But how often to you stop to chat with the criminal about his emotions, morals, dreams, family life, etc? You don't."
But because Les Miz gives us Jean Valjean's PoV, we view him as the hero, while Javert is stuck being the villain.
So keep that in mind when writing! To some, your bad guys might not actually be bad guys--and those kinds of characters tend to be the most interesting.
When you think Spain, chances are you think bullfighting, though it's also practiced in other parts of Europe and Latin America. At its most basic, the "art" consists of baiting a bull, then killing it in the arena, known as a bullring.
Bull statue in Ronda.
Believe it or not, bullfighting is considered an art, not a sport. The matadors, locally referred to as toreros, train from an early age, developing their own rhythm and style, for which they're known around the country, and sometimes the world. As Hemingway wrote, "Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter's honour."
Bullring in Ronda.
It's a practice that dates back thousands of years (pre-Rome), but it's often compared to the more well-known gladiatorial competitions. However, modern bullfighting, which involves fighting on foot (rather than mounted on a horse), staying within inches of the bull, and using the red cape, came about in the 18th century.
Nowadays there's a lot of controversy about bullfighting. My host mother, Isabel, is very against it, for example. When I asked her about it, she threw up her hands and said, "¡Qué barbaridad!" The autonomous community of Catalonia (where Barcelona is located) actually banned bullfighting, and animal rights activists are trying to get the rest of Spain to follow suit.
Honestly, it seems that nowadays bullfighting is more for tourists than for Spaniards. People come from all over the world and pay darn good dinero to see it. Don't get me wrong: there are indeed Spaniards who are bullfighting fanatics (the kind who get season tickets), but not nearly as many as there used to be. But Spain is all about cultural tradition, so I highly doubt it's going to get the boot.
WRITING
Confession: Hemingway is a historical crush of mine. For his writing, for his adventurous spirit, for his love of Spain. (All right, his looks, too).
You know who liked bullfights? Ernest Hemingway, whose novel The Sun Also Rises is all about bullfights in Pamplona, complete with a twisted love triangle (rectangle? pentagon?) involving a matador. He goes into great detail describing the bulls, the bullfights, and the style of Pedro Romero, the matador remembered for his ridiculously tight pants. (Though really all matadors have tight pants, but his are notable since they help to contrast him with protagonist Jake Barnes. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you can read all about it here--or better yet, read the book because it's great).
In both Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises and Esteban Echeverrías The Slaughterhouse (El Matadero, in Spanish), bulls are stand-ins for the human characters. Symbols, if you will, usually of immense honor and courage.
Symbols are always fun to write. They're like secret codes: you know them, and your readers have to figure them out. Though since I don't generally write literary fiction, most of the time I don't realize I included a symbol until I go back and revise. Then I'm like, "Hey. That works. Good job, subconscious."
What's your opinion on bullfighting? Approve or disapprove? Have you seen a bullfight? Read The Sun Also Rises? Thoughts on symbols?
And because I can, how about a Spanish song? B is for "Bulería," by David Bisbal, who happens to have very bouncy hair :) There may or may not be a bullring in this video.
If you like to look at book-related websites (like I do), chances are you've seen something like this before. Maybe not the same image, perhaps not the same exact phrasing, but it's a common sentiment that the internet expresses well.
We've all felt this way. You know, when we're so lost in a book, that when we look up, we're startled to find that the rest of the world isn't having the same emotional experience we are. Sometimes the book is so powerful it gives you a whole new perspective. In a way, it changes you, but the world around you hasn't altered one bit.
That's how I feel about my trip to Istanbul.
The Blue Mosque at night.
That moment when you come back from Istanbul, look around, and realize that everyone is just carrying on with their lives…
I've tried to explain my trip to my friends. To my family. I tell them what we did, where we went, our best (and worst) stories, but it isn't the same. Words are a powerful magic, but even words cannot capture the majesty that was this sunset viewed from the Galata bridge. The profundity of that one moment, the unspoken wonder shared between friends, the blazing emotions that consumed my entire being…
It's impossible.
The photo just doesn't capture the moment.
All week I'd been thinking about what I was going to blog about in relation to Istanbul, but all my ideas fell flat. They wouldn't do my experience justice. They wouldn't do the city justice.
My favorite story from the trip is that of Muhammed. It was our last night, so we decided to end our trip by getting tea and baklava at a relatively fancy pastry shop. Once we had finished eating, we spread our map over the table in order to review where we had been. Upon noticing the map, our waiter, Muhammed, came over and offered to give us directions.
We started to talk to him about where he lived in Istanbul, how long he had been there, where he was from…
Syria. Which, if you don't know, has been in turmoil for a few years. (Click here to learn more.)
His home was destroyed. His university was destroyed.
And all his friends are dead.
He's my age.
I tell this story, but nobody can see the expression on his face when he told us he never ever wants to go back to Syria. When he brought us Turkish Delight, on him, against our protestations. When he said, "America is nice, yes? I would like to go there, but…"
The way his voice trailed off at the "but…"
That moment when you meet someone you'll never forget, look around, and realize that everyone is just carrying on with their lives, as though you didn't just experience emotional trauma at the hands of a Syrian waiter.
Left to Right: Me, Sean, Muhammed, Natalie, Josh. I seriously hope we meet again someday.
It really is strange that the world keeps going without acknowledging the experience, and even a few days after my return, I'm having a hard time carrying on with my life. I simply want to sit, and remember, and think, and wonder, and ask if that really happened, and realize that it did. It happened, and only I will ever fully understand it.
I don't even like to tell people about Istanbul anymore. At first, I tried my hardest to make them understand. I gave them a day-by-day play-by-play. I showed them photos. I found the call to prayer on YouTube and sent it to them. But the truth is, it's something that can never be truly shared.
No matter what, nobody will ever have my same emotional experience. Really, it's the same when reading a book. Just as you can go to the same place, you can read the same words; but your emotional experience is entirely unique to you, and that's what makes it so darn difficult to connect with people while you're still suffering from a "book hangover," or in my case, a "travel hangover."
Have you ever had a "book hangover" or a "travel hangover," or any other type of emotional experience that left you feeling somewhat alone while the rest of the world carries on with their lives?
This past weekend I once again journeyed away from Sevilla, this time flying to Barcelona, which is located in lovely Catalonia.
Casa Battló at night.
To say the least, it was a busy weekend. We spent the better part of each day on our feet, hurrying from one architectural marvel to another, and only calling it quits after the sun set. Yup, absolutely exhausting. Thankfully, my friends are, well, my friends…And that means that an evening curled up with good books while feasting on bread, cheese, chocolate and cheap champagne is just as good (probably better) as a night at a discoteca. So we were nice and rested for the next day's adventure.
Our program guide, Antonio, introduced Barcelona as a city of fantasy and magic. At first glance, that's a little difficult to see. After all, Barcelona is a huge metropolitan city, complete with skyscrapers, flashy lights, and an upscale shopping district.
But that's what's special about it. The fantasticalis subtly woven into the modern city, making Barcelona a living example of urban fantasyand maybe even magic realism.
Let's take a stroll, shall we?
Casa Battló on the right. Notice the scaled roof.
We exit the hostel and there, just a block away and standing on a perfectly normal street, is the Casa Battló, which in my opinion belongs in some sort of twisted Candyland. The walls are supposed to look like a garden, while the balconies and columns are meant to represent bones. Kind of creepy, right? The roof is scaled, like the back of a dragon, and the chimney is San Jorge's sword--being plunged into the dragon.
The dragon is the symbol of Barcelona, and it's everywhere (but still subtle enough that you have to look for it).
The roof of La Pedrera.
Then just a few minutes away is La Pedrera, another house by the same architect (Antoni Gaudí, the man behind all of Barcelona's most famous sites). Again, it's a palace on a normal city block, easy to miss. It's most interesting feature is its roof, which looks like an alien desert.
La Sagrada Familia
And of course, there's Barcelona's most famous tourist attraction: the Sagrada Familia, a cathedral designed by Gaudí in the late nineteenth century, and is still under construction today. It's interesting, for sure, but like most of Gaudi's work, I don't know if I'd call it gorgeous. (Personal opinion). To me and my writer's mind it would make an awesome palace for a villain. I can easily imagine an evil queen standing in the tower, peering at her kingdom with disdain.
Magic and fantasy are everywhere: in the design of the sidewalk, the fountains that dance to changing colors, the paintings that line Las Rambas.
As I said, Barcelona brings urban fantasy into the real world, so the city got me thinking about writing in the genre, especially because my WIP is, among other things, urban fantasy.
Why does it appeal to us? What makes it special?
I'm no expert on urban fantasy (my current WIP is my first venture into it), but I might have a little insight.
In general, people like cities. For hundreds of years we have been migrating to them, usually in search of work, or in order to escape the trials of country living. We're naturally drawn to them, usually not because of aesthetic appeal, but because of the opportunities they offer. Yup, cities are goldmines of opportunities, and not only in real life. Plot and character-wise, they're invaluable.
You aren't going to find a character like this in the countryside:
Not gonna lie, this guy was probably my favorite part of the trip. He was standing at the highest point of the Parc Güell, playing guitar in front of an elevated cross, while singing "Jesus Christ Superstar."
As for plots, cities tend to provide more opportunities for your characters to do different activities (just like in real life). They can go to a nightclub; they can be pickpocketed on the metro; they can get lost in the slums; and so forth.
A bar in Barcelona called "Bosc de las Fades,"
which translates to "Forest of the Fairies."
Yup, it's enchanted forest themed.
For this reason, cities are prone to stories. Real stories. History happens everywhere, of course, but it's concentrated in the cities. Where did the French Revolution start? Paris. What about the birthplace of American independence? Philadelphia. The conquest of Mexico? Tenochtitlán.
But where does the fantasy part come in? Well, cities offer opportunities, but once you throw in elements of magic, those opportunities become endless. Absolutely anything could happen.
Of course, there's more. Urban fantasy allows us to bring magic into our own lives. While deep down we realize that we probably won't ever be whisked away to Middle-earth or Narnia, we can go to cities like New York. Like London. Like Barcelona, where it's easy to imagine magic happening all around us, though we may not be able to see it.
And no matter how childish it is, we always hold onto that hope that someday the fantastical adventure will be ours. At least, I do. In Tangiers I hoped to find a magic lamp. In Rome I wanted some angels and demons (get it?). And in Barcelona, I was just itching to fight off a dragon.
Barcelona viewed from the Parc Güell. I can easily imagine a dragon soaring through that sky.
We like magic, so the idea that it can be threaded into modern society is highly appealing. Which is why people come to Barcelona. Let's face it: you don't come to Barcelona for traditional Spanish culture. You won't find the narrow winding streets (try Toledo), flamenco (that's Andalusian), bullfighting (it's banned in Catalonia), or even Spanish (the official language of Catalonia is Catalan). No, people flock to Barcelona for the fantasy, for the magic.
Unfortunately, I didn't find any fairies or dragons (I guess I wasn't looking hard enough. Or I'm just a silly muggle). Though I'm in Istanbul this week, so you can be sure that my quest for a magic lamp will be renewed!
Enough of me! What about you? Have you ever been to any "magical" cities? Or if not, which ones would you like to go to? What are your favorite urban fantasy books?
Ladies and gents, I give you my new catchphrase: "arte como arma," or in English, "art as a weapon". If you're wondering why it's in Spanish, it's because I first read it in Spanish. No, unfortunately I can't take credit for it :(
I'm enrolled in a course at my university called "Seville and the Community." Essentially, it's a class about social and political issues in Spain: homelessness, poverty, poor education, etc. This week I gave a fifteen-minute oral presentation on "arte como arma," and in the middle of my powerpoint, realized, "Hey, this isn't just for a grade. I actually have something interesting to say about this."
Before I begin, what exactly do I mean by art? Well, everything: painting, sculpture, drawing, carpentry, fashion, music, dance, poetry, prose…
My basic argument: art is great for recreation, but it can also be used as a weapon against hardship, whether that hardship is poverty, depression, social exclusion, unemployment, etc. Of course, it isn't going to do away with these issues:
Art is a spiritual expression, an activity that generates joy, entertainment, and knowledge. A poem, a song, a play, surely cannot change reality or defeat misery, but it can act as a tool through which people can express their experiences, their stories, and aspire to better lives. This is what's called social art. - La Gaceta[translated from Spanish]
OK, social art. Basically, it's a way to cope with suffering: through self expression. However, I'm not sure if I completely agree with the above quote. Is it true that art cannot change reality or defeat misery?
I asked this question during my presentation and it generated a little bit of debate. Most people argued that art itself cannot change reality, but it can inspire people to change reality.
Well, of course. If people start munching on oil paintings in an attempt to end hunger, then we have a bigger problem than we thought.
I asked for some examples of art that has changed reality. Unfortunately, we were a little short in this area, so maybe La Gaceta has a point. But how about Uncle Tom's Cabin, which changed the United States' view on slavery leading up to the Civil War?
Whether art changes reality or not, it's still a way to lessen the pain of hardship:
Art is a solution. It's a sign of culture, and culture is what gives comfort in the face of the certainty of chaos and the forcefulness of the horrors that have been occurring for a long time. Culture is an analgesic, not an anesthetic. Culture is what provides serenity in the face of disaster. - Laura Fleischer, El arte como herramienta de intervención social[translated from Spanish]
So, culture to cope with disaster. Sounds about right. We were able to come up with more examples for this, like:
The Golden Age of Hollywood - The Golden Age of Hollywood began in the late 1920s, around the same time as the Great Depression. Though people struggled to put bread on the table, they didn't often begrudge a trip to the movies. The escapist films of the 1930s offered comfort to a society in crisis.
"A Modest Proposal" - Jonathan Swift's satiric essay deals with poverty and famine in Ireland during the early eighteenth century (the potato famine came later). He uses grotesque humor to point out society's problems, and if there's any one way to cope with hardship, it's humor. If you're interested, you can read the whole text here.
Guernica - Arguably Pablo Picasso's most famous painting, Guernica came as a result of a bombing during the Spanish Civil War. It was put on display at the 1937 World's Fair, thereby bringing the War international attention.
Slave culture - Slaves in the Americas used song and dance, usually with African or Native American influences, to help cope with the hardships of slavery and preserve their own cultural identity.
Guernica, by Pablo Picasso
But it's not just that art provides a coping mechanism; rather, there are tangible results, believe it or not. A twelve-year national study showed that underprivileged students who are involved in the arts generally have a higher success rates: they achieve more after high school graduation, they do more volunteer work, and they participate in politics.
So why did I choose this topic? And now, it's not because, as a writer, I strongly believe in the power of words (though that's true, too).
It's because of Polígono Sur, the neighborhood in which I teach English. Essentially, Polígono Sur is a chabolismo, or as we would call it, a slum. As one of the poorest areas in Sevilla, it has a reputation for crime, a reputation that's only augmented by its large gypsy population.
This fence in Polígono Sur is very close to my English class.
But damn, does Polígono Sur have art!
I'm talking flamenco. Not touristy flamenco, either, with the main goal being to entertain. No, this isn't some sort of spectacle. It's intensely personal, an expression of human emotions through music and dance; yet at the same time, it's communal. It brings people together, and as long as the flamenco lasts, those people are one cohesive group. They celebrate together, struggle together, survive together.
It's how they cope with poverty. With drug abuse. With the stigma associated with their community and their culture, especially if they're gypsies. By pouring their emotions into flamenco.
If you're interested in seeing flamenco in Polígono Sur, you can check out this documentary. Even if you don't know a lick of Spanish, you'll be able to see what I'm talking about within the first ten minutes:
Now to wrap up, I'll leave you with one of my favorite quotes:
We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering…These are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love…These are what we stay alive for. - Dead Poet's Society
What do you think? Can art be used as a weapon against hardship? Can art change reality? Can you think of any examples in which art has changed reality? How about when culture has helped cope with disaster?
Another weekend, another adventure! Where, you ask? AFRICA.
It's casual.
The most glorious sunset. That's Africa.
Yep, I spent three days in Morocco, exploring the beautiful cities of Tetuan, Chefchaouen, and Tangier. Cool, right? Way cool. Every few minutes I said to myself, "Is this real life? This cannot be real life."
Guess what? It was real life.
We left Spain on Friday, crossing at the Straits of Gibraltar. As we sailed for Ceuta, a Spanish city located in Morocco, we watched the most glorious sunset I have ever seen. With Africa to one side, and Europe to the other, the sun dipped below the Mediterranean horizon, momentarily lighting up the sky with a million colors.
A street in Chefchaouen. Notice the mountain.
We spent most of Saturday in Chefchaouen, a picturesque town on the side of a mountain. (Almost all the towns are on the sides of mountains). There I had my first experience with a Moroccan market: unlike in the States, it's acceptable--no, expected--that you haggle. I'm terrible at it, but it was still a ton of fun! Like when I turned my back on the shopkeeper, strutted away with mock confidence, and sure enough, he called me back: "Okay, okay, you can have for 70 dirham!"
I thought so.
Anyway, now I'm loaded up with a beaded shirt, a sundress, three giant bags of Moroccan tea, several grams of saffron, some soap, earrings, a scarf, three pairs of harem pants, and a magic lamp. (The Disney nerd in me could not in good conscience go to Morocco and not get a magic lamp).
I'm on a camel! In MOROCCO.
After a Moroccan lunch, we headed for Tangier. The next day we rode some camels, explored Tetuan, and finally, went back to semi-reality, a.k.a. Spain.
So what does any of this have to do with reading and writing? Lots, actually. I could talk about cool settings, or gender roles in books, or world-building, or fun dialogue (I mean, just think about the banter between a shopkeeper and a potential customer).
But instead, I'm going to talk about not writing and not reading. Sometimes, it's actually a good idea :)
The three cities I visited are relatively far from each other: at least an hour, sometimes two or more, on a narrow road that winds through a rugged countryside. Lots of bus time to get work done, right? Good, because I had a ton of reading to do: reading for class, reading for my internship, research reading for my WIP, reading friends' manuscripts, and so on.
Moroccan countryside.
I turned on my Kindle. Looked down. Read a sentence. A paragraph. And turned it off.
How could I stare at a page when the beautiful Moroccan countryside was rolling by my window? I can read anytime, I can write anytime. But who knows when I'll next see Morocco? Even if it's from a bus, through a window, the vista is so breathtaking, so awe-inspiring, that I'd be a fool to miss it, even for a gripping page-turner. Because guess what? This is real life.
Market in Tetuan.
It's those moments when real life becomes as awe-inspiring as fiction that it's time to put down the book, look out the window, explore and dream and live. Writers always inhabit the heads of their characters, but every once in awhile, they need to leave those characters behind in order to go on their own adventures. Otherwise, they'll miss the wonderful story called life.
What if I had been a good student and did my assigned readings while on the ferry? I would have missed the Most Glorious Sunset. And if I had read on the bus? Or if I had been writing? I'd never have noticed the rippling streams that course through the hills, or the little boy riding a donkey, or a multicolored herd galloping in sync over a field.
Books are great. I love books. I love words. They truly are magical, but it's important to remember that they are just words on a page. Powerful words, but words nonetheless. Simple inkblots. Turn away for a moment, and you'll find that the real story is the one that's all around you.
