Hey Mr. Heinz, I like the stuff of your ketchup

A good buddy of mine once told me, if you begin to blog, events in your life will become judged on their worthiness to be made known to others. Soon this evaluation of "worthiness" had a call name for rapid identification, like a trucker ambling down I-65 responding only to "Chili Dog" through the tones of a see bee radio. Cullen and his friends began to exclaim events in their life as "blog worthy". As to be expected "blog worthy" transitioned to an acronym. "BW" meaning "that is blog worthy". To make acronym status is a powerful thing; two letters stand for much more than even the words they represent. With this in the bag and jostling around in the spaces of my mind I stroll through daily life here in Sevilla.

The "BW" acronym has had a party with my life this week in Spain. The weekend met me with a flurry of discotecas, nice meals, and great times with friends, both new and old. Rob Clayton, a good buddy of mine and brother in Christ from Clemson and I reveled at our present places in life; being in the same city for awhile is a welcome change in our friendship. I am so thankful he is here (Here’s to you Shred). We rocked a discoteca with mutual friends and met some wonderful Spanish people. A few hours later I found myself jumping up and down, like a small child on a trampoline, arm and arm with Spaniards chanting a song in a tongue not my own. No coincidence the discoteca is called the “Fun Club” (prounounced: fOOn KLUb), and as Scott says, “fOOn KLUb was fun”. We need to figure out if the club has members or not. As we walked home that night we struck up several sappy American songs in the streets of Spain. Ryan Seacrest would have been proud of our Destiny’s Child performance and even the ever stingy Paul Simon would have loved JD’s stirring solo.

Smaller stories seem to be knitting together easily, creating a tale much bigger than they could ever be alone. It is these smallest of happenings that give joy to my life in Sevilla. A host of oranges showered my friend, Scott and I, as we walked home from class. Falling from aloft towards our feet like the bombs of a B-52 squadron. I also found a bit of good karma and received a surprise of sorts from a Spanish lady. The surprise was a cerveza or “beer”, not just any paltry beer but Cruz Campo, the water of a dehydrated Sevilla. She had spilled her groceries and I gave a hand. That hand got a free beer but more importantly a good laugh from a small and simple moment. Spanish intensive classes began this week and I have thoroughly enjoyed them. Being in Spain has found my speaking skills lacking and I relish at the opportunity to learn more and improve with the time I am given here. Our maestro, Luis Recio, is a colorful, kind, middle aged man, who is quite possible the best teacher I have had to this day. Our homework on Wednesday was a “street assignment”, in which we were given the task to walk the street by the Puerta de Jerez, a beautiful fountain and plaza, and strike up conversations with real Sevillanos. I felt like a little tater tot waiting, on the bus, for his first day of kindergarten class. However, with the mantra, “When in Spain” playing on my internal sound system my assignment partner Mark and I marched into the unknown. An intimidating, nerve filled, awesome hour of broken Spanish, really nice people, and laughter.

The people here are keen on walks or "los cambios". Like Americans, the day after turkey, they parade the streets with admirable consistency. However, unlike the red, white, and the blue, Spaniards all too often have no "purpose" in mind as their shoes step side by side through the cobble stone streets. By "purpose" it is meant that there exists no means to an end here in Spain. Two gentlemen will walk with each other, worn hands folded comfortably behind their dapper backs, for the higher purpose of having no means to an end with one another. A task should be carried to enjoy the process of getting to the end. More times than not the journey well enjoyed makes a better ending. For example, one could live a life marked with a great deal of haste to experience “everything” and in their perpetual “go” mode miss the tiny things that make life worth living. The walk I speak of is a selfless walk, to your friend, and your true self. How many times have you let yourself stroll awhile with only the course of conversation present to call things to a close? No deadlines, no other plans, just you, where you are, a walk with the other person in mind. No "purpose" other than the beautiful purpose of enjoying one anothers' company and living in the present (something that really is much more difficult than perceived). "Living in the present" is fitting for a bumper sticker on the rear window of a jaded 98 Subaru and nice to throw out in bar conversations but I wonder how many people really understand the notion. I have a sincere feeling the people here in Spain have their hands grasped softly around the idea.

(I already have the next part written, as the piece is intended to be viewed and read as a whole, i thought a little "installment" approach might help you read things and not overwhelm you. Dumas wrote installments so why not me. Credit mister stark for the idea)

"Don't Fight It"

"We are all part of the story"
-Scott Rick, University of Wisconsin

Life in Sevilla

hey all, a great deal has happened since my last post almost a week ago. Spain has already become my home. It is hard to believe after a week i feel so at ease and comfortable here. On Wednesday of last week i woke up in Hotel Fernando III with the appetite of a Heath and a wee bit of the nerves. If you do not know what a Heath is just get acquainted with my older brother. Heath has a uncanny knack to plan lunch and dinner at breakfast, eating meals while constantly awaiting the next. I was on a mission to find some grub because the Spanish seem to never snack, eat smaller portions, and take more time away from eating. My stomach felt like a legion of monarchs had set up shop within its not so cavernous halls. The nerves opened the door to those butterflies as i was soon to meet the Echeverria clan, our sense of family in Spain.

I grabbed a croissant and walked into the lobby to be greeted by an army of fur coats and a small roar of Spanish conversation. Antonio, one of the orientation leaders and a really great guy, lead me over to Elena. I felt like a kindergartner hopping on the yellow wagon for his first day of school. We exchanged a few anxious salutations and sped off to my new home away from home, LOS REMEDIOS, a "zone" of the city a spear throw from the heart of the city. I walked in the door and was greeted by "chica", the families' Shepard dog, who has become really tight with me. Elena played tour guide and showed me around the home, showed me the ropes, and established herself as one of the most gracious, kind, and fun ladies i have ever met. She doesn't speak a lick of English and it is primo. Her house has become my class room. I love sitting with her in the salon conversing about life- food, her children and grandchildren, her views on Obama and American politics (she really likes Obama), and her awesome lifestyle (flamenco class 3 days a week, an avid chef, quite the reader, and proud member of a dog walking club). She should be in Webster's dictionary as the definition of patience.

J.D and I share a little room, about the size of a bunk bed. We try to work on the language together but it is super nice to have him here and ooze English from time to time. You have no idea how much i appreciate the English language now. We express who we are with letters, words, verbs tenses, participles, and a litany of other grammatical terms. God gave us language so we could share our hearts, passions, and express who HE made us to be with each other. It is a beautiful thing to be able to listen and speak without really thinking too much about it. I have realized the intricacies of speech, like a person hearing music for the first time, i am over joyed with the smallest of spoken things.

I have been hitting the "club" scene on a consistent basis becoming the Cal Ripken Jr. of night life here in Seville. These people have the stamina of marathon runners when it comes to night life. They crank it up around birth and never stop. I respect it. I have met some wonderful people in my program and love hitting the discotecas with them, meeting Spaniards, and rocking out to the beats of europe. Friendship is strange in that it came strike up so quick (Pygmeo, Tortuga, Albondiga and others- you know of what i type). I am thankful for that. Yesterday, we took a trip to Italica, a beautiful roman ruin nestled in the foothills of Sevilla. I stood in the middle of a gladiator arena and had to pick my jaw back up after viewing some of the most beautiful mosaics i had ever seen. At the discoteca and in las madrugadas (morning hours) I met Juande and Antonio, two hombres studying at La Universidad de Seville, we talked soccer (the world's official language), and i plan to meet up with them and work on my Spanish while they improve their English. And to put some sprinkles on that cup of ice cream we are going to play some soccer here soon in the barrio.

All in all, life is always good, people are patient and give of themselves if you let them, and you learn so much if you just let go and allow things to happen. I will update soon and also apologize for the boring read- i know there is a lack of color here but I wanted to let you eat the whole sandwich instead of just give you a pickle.

ciao,
Ryan

"weakness can sometime be the strongest of strengths"

A Story of Oranges

Everything begins and nothing ever ends without something beginning again: walking out your front door, going past the stop sign in your neighborhood, getting your driver’s license, saddling up your car for college, saying goodbye to the United States, growing up, there all dependent on each other. Today was my first day in Spain. I ran down the up section of an escalator to catch a flight, met a neat military man from Louisiana in Madrid (by far the most befuddling airport experience of my life), and talked soccer with my cabbie named Marcos. He spoke no English and a little French, which proved to be no help at all; it was the best ride of my life. Around two in the afternoon, Seville time, I found myself sitting in a café, pigeons fidgeting curiously around my chair (as if they knew I was the new guy in town), underneath the beautiful orange trees of Seville. The guys and gals in the travel books weren’t playing games about the copious (that vocabulary usage for Will Nettleton) amounts of orange balls giving taste to thousands of trees throughout the city. I liken the amount of oranges in Sevilla to the number of red and blue solo cups in the grove on Saturdays. The little orange fruit is so big here that the guys say, “la naranja de Seville” about girls, which means the orange of Seville or “your dream girl”. The city is beautiful and the people or very hospitable. However, the city’s street design is anything but hospitable. It seems the calles here have a strange sense of humor as the asphalt all works together to from a wondrous Spanish labyrinth. J.D Stark took me on an extensive tour of the city and really impressed me with his uncanny internal compass. It was nice to catch up with a good pal and brother in Christ and surreal to do so in Europe of all places. I think J.D is already a Spaniard. The jet lag is causing me to run out of strong so I am going to read and hit the sack. Last thing, these people love soccer over here, this looks like the beginning of something beautiful. If you can not speak Spanish you can always speak soccer. The whole world speaks it. Also, be praying that Rob Clayton, J.D., and myself can find a Christian community over here. I’m thankful to have those two with me on this adventure.


Ciao