Here we gooo (to the tune of NSYNC)

posted by: Lyndsey


Don't worry everyone, I haven't fallen off one of the many cliffs in Granada (which you'll hear about below), or out my window while trying to fix the blinds (you'll hear about that later if you're lucky..) Ashton has just been a LITTLE more uh, enthusiastic (i.e. on the ball) with the blog.

So here goes...

"Dale limosna, mujer,
que no hay in la vida nada,
como la pena de ser ciego en Granada."

This is a little lyric written by a Mexican poet and ambassador to Spain named Francisco Alarcon de Icaza. It means 'give him alms, woman, for in this life there is nothing in life like the pain of being blind in Granada'. Random, right? I thought so too...this little poem is super famous in Granada and I didn't really see the significance at first..UNTIL we went on tours of the Arabic Albacin and Sacromonte neighborhoods the other week.




The Albaicin is an old Arabic neighborhood up in the hills of Granada. I thought that three years at Clemson would have prepared me for the 'hills of Granada', but I practically needed a rope and a belay to make it up those hilly roads..real talk. Once we got up there though, it had the most beautiful view of the city. All the streets were cobblestoned, and all the houses were whitewashed so there was a summery uniformity to everything.





Further up, the Albaicin neighborhood turned into the Sacromonte neighborhood. This is known to be the land of the hippies and gypsies of Spain..(your kind of place Maria!) They live in these crazy cave houses up in the hills. You know the gypsies because they creep around and when you're least expecting it jump in front of you and wave a random leaf of some sort in your face, begging you to let them read your fortune. If for some crazy reason you accept, they want your money. It's pretty invading! You know the hippies because they travel around in packs, usually have long dreads, or some sort of dread mullet (i don't make this stuff up), and have big dogs that follow them around. They beg on the streets and sell jewelry.



A lot of flamenco cave shows take place in the Sacromonte, and the residents have learned to create random tourist traps since it's a pretty well-known tourist area. (e.g. a random Sacromontian approached our group on the tour and wanted us to come to his (her?) cave-turned-random-museum-of-some-sort. Two out of 30 of us went in (I didn't..you had to pay), and all that was in there was random framed pictures.

Anyway, it was creepy walking around in that area, because there was nobody really around, either because it was in the middle of siesta, or everyone was down in the center of the city. So it was just us, and all the neglect and poverty of the area (worn-down houses, cluttered yards, trash) was pretty obvious. That was juxtaposed, though, with the absolute GEORGEOUSNESS of the surroundings, with the view of the mountains and the city. Thinking about the poverty of the people that live in such a richly beautiful and cultural area is kind of where I started to understand that poem. (Or maybe I just spent one too many days in Zaidman's class in high school..) But it also reminds me of how rich life in Christ is, juxtaposed with the mess that we lay in front of Him. A life without the love of Christ really is living blind to the beauty He adds to us.





That's all I got for now!