Like a high school crush

The other day, after getting back from Morocco, Kate and I went on a fall-in-love-with-Granada-all-over-again walk through the Paseo de los Tristes and up into the Albaizín, where, of course, we fell in love with Granada again. It´s bittersweet because, truth be told, I should never want to leave this place, and yet I do. It´s got mountains, beach, personality, and Spanish :), but it´s not home, and I don´t see that changing.

Then yesterday, we hauled our sorry asses out of bed, got on the bus, geared up, and hit the mountain. My second day skiing this year. As Hemingway would say, qué obscenity día! After three weeks of rain, the clouds parted, the heavens shone with magnificent light, and I got a little bit of a goggle tan. I cannot deny that a decent chunk of my sanity depends on whether or not I can spend time on a mountain, preferably going really fast down a big snow-covered hill. I´m like a new woman.

Plus, I found out last week that Nico is coming to visit with his mom and sister, and that means that several of my favorite people will have shared with me a little of my life here, which sort of makes the transition back to my other life easier. I am hoping that I can go with them to Morocco and introduce them to some of my friends there. I feel like I really need the chance to say goodbye, and I am not sure if I will lead another group this semester. Then, I am thinking I will kidnap Nick (ala Spencer) and force him to stay and travel with me more. Hay que aprovechar mis últimas semanas aquí!!

Mike, an alum of the Morocco and the Alpujarra program, the first person to be trapped in our bathroom, and basically our adopted little brother, came back to Granada yesterday after four months of travelling around India, Thailand, Laos, and Cambodia. Last night we had a nice, mellow night, and I sucked up some of his good energy and some of the exotic fruit that he managed to get through customs. It was almost like being someplace tropical until we realized that we were still cold.

Today at Samia´s where I check my email every day, I started crying while reading about the Virginia Tech shooting. I think it was partly frustration about the recent bombings in Casablanca that sort of overflowed out of my eyes when I started thinking about how horrible all of this violence is. My Moroccan friends are scared because they don´t want extremists taking over their streets, they are afraid their jobs and economy will suffer, and they don´t want the world to equate those detestable acts with Morocco (or Muslims, in general). It makes me think even more about the difference between religion and politics, and how they both are used to manipulate public perception. How is it that the acts of a small percentage of people who call themselves Muslim come to represent more than a billion people, the majority of whom want to live a peaceful life without fear of being blown up as they wait for a movie. Why is different when it is the act of an Iraqi than when the person setting off the bomb is American?

I think about this a lot now tht home is in my periphery. I love where I am from, and I think the United States is an amazing place, both the people and the landscape. I have friends who have fought and will fight in Iraq, and who, I think, are being used as pawns in a really big, really important chess game. The players on the other side, like my Moroccan friends, are stuck in the middle of an economic and cultural minefield, and if they give in too much either way, they either have to compromise their culture, religion, and identity, or they are at the mercy of people who would have them stay permanently etched in stone and without the freedom to question or change.

Whew! The Little One (my roommate Andreia) is taking us on a marcha tonight. In English, we´re going OUT! So I should go and pretend that I am a rock star. I´m in Spain, dammit! Hay que aprovechar.

More later. Love H