I had a run by the river today. It was the first run in many days, which makes it the kind of run where sweat feels different. It is saltier and heavier, and tastes stronger as it runs down your face, burning harder when it hits your eyes. When this kind of run is over you feel all the better because you released bad things the body needs to get out, the kind of waste that sits in people who never move until something serious happens to their health and they realize they should change something. These first runs are necessary, part of a process I love, and the next one will feel stronger and lighter as will the one that follows that. This is how running goes.
This run was important for me also because it was my first run ever in Spain. Having done it in a few parts of the world already, it takes on an almost spiritual significance, a way of coping and understanding and organizing life in your head. The steady tap-tap-tap of your feet slows things down when the world is flopping around you. I will not admit to culture shock, but I will say things have been difficult. Important details are missed in rapid Andalusian Spanish, important turns are missed in a complicated city, and important phrases are butchered to the banker, the grocer, and the bartender. The program here rightfully turns your whole world inside out, and running, as it has been for me many times in the past, is the best sort of addiction.
Things aren't that bad. We are provided plenty. Tomorrow I will sit in a plaza in one of the oldest cities in Europe eating tapas and drinking beer, watching people walk the same narrow cobblestone streets Christopher Columbus walked over 500 years ago. A friend said during lunch the other day that sometimes she looks and her life and just laughs. It is a feeling I can relate to, and I'm lucky to enjoy such things.
In Spain I run along an important and historic river. Starting in the mountains outside Cordoba, it flows west to the ocean. During Columbus's time it was full of wooden galleons carrying gold from the Americas to Seville, making this the capital of the world. This was the highest point Spain ever reached, the world's first global empire operating in every time zone South America to the Philippines. The Spain of today does not resemble the Spain that once was, sidelined, overlooked -- one of history's great falls from grace.
Jan Morris calls a chapter in her book on Spain, Sol y Sombra -- sun and shade -- and it highlights the difference in temperatures between the two, especially true in Andalusia. You certainly do feel that here. Wintertime in the shade and you need a jacket, but no matter what, if there is sun, you feel some sort of warmth. I have not felt that in other parts of the world and that is a part of Spain that resonates with me and I'm sure a few others.
Young people do things like this for a number of reasons, and in this sort of program I have seen a lot. For a few sorority girls, it's all a party and one big hangover that they'll probably wake up from in a few months time. For others it almost seems mandatory, something that school or family required, so they suffer while friends remain comfortable at home. At times I am idealistic and think anytime an American goes abroad it's a good thing because so many never will. Other times I cover my face when I hear them talk aloud. I have talked to good Americans about bad Americans, and a general consensus remains: we have an idea why the world hates us. Each day I try and make the image better, piece by piece, like that girl who throws starfish into the water.
I looked at the river one last time today and thought about my own reasons for being here. They certainly are a little vague. I want to learn Spanish in the only way you can. I want to live this city, and take some of it with me the next place I go. All this might change a million times, and that will be just fine too. My view is that you don't have to know, especially at my age. You just have to try and find out.
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