A month late,but my heart is still open to Malaga.

April 25, 2008  Back in Valencia

We were in the Central Market in Valencia today to get those things we can't get in grocery stores. Like a fresh duck, a fresh chicken, habanero peppers, cherries.  We still haven't gotten over rabbit being sold in grocery stores and the market.  An older couple were talking to the woman at the meat counter (birds and rabbits) about wanting the heads of the rabbits, but not the eyes or the teeth.  David and I were cringing.  It's just cultural and we have the notion that bunnies are to be raised in cages or house trained and they don't.  We had a house bunny for years so it's especially wild for us.  If we let these things bother us, it just plays into our shadow selves.  We realize the limits of our vocabularies constantly.  With the duck and the chicken, we got them with everything but the heads, because we weren't exactly sure what we would say to indicate we didn't want the organs, etc.  So we will clean the chicken and the duck, but they won't be staring us in the face while we do it.

It's actually quite humorous, we have gotten used to being in Spain, after 3 months, now we are seeing that the trip will eventually end.  Of course we knew it would end, but our emphasis for so long has been on learning how things work in Spain, the politics, the day- to- day necessary things, that when the real estate agent called the house telling us that they would be bringing clients in on Saturday to look at the house for July and August- I finally got that we have hit the tipping point.  We will not be here forever. 

So now we are  looking at Valencia and suddenly the questions are changing.  What do we want to see that we haven't seen before this window closes?  Certainly this happens to all of us when we are experiencing the limits of our time frames.  Sometimes it's a limit placed on us by the tenuous or fragile, but we move on.  We see that in Valencia it has  suddenly become summer.  For the first time in our bedroom downstairs, the tile bastion of winter- "the refrigerator"- did not need the electric heater plugged in to be comfortable.  Walking from the metro with our little old lady market trolley, it was HOT getting back to the house. 

Last night ,at dusk David called out to me, he was sitting on the patio outside barbequeing ribs, "Paula, I have just seen bats!"  David has a lifelong fear of bats.  So the fact that we have left our windows open inadvertently a couple times, had new meaning.  He was laughing because the bike club he has cycled with is called the "Bats" now he knows why.

We have really gotten that we are still the "other" and will continue to be here.  Our accents are just beacons for others to shake their heads and go into simple explanation mode.  We get the culture at a glance and find things that are meaningful for us, but the sub-strata remains a mystery.

April 21, 2008 

Well, it has been an interesting time getting back into Valencia time.  From the enormous and powerful senses of excitement and discovery of places I have wanted to see the entire trip, to coming back to a bathroom toilet overflowing and the daily routine. 

It's not just hard for me, but David is having a time settling back into the routine.  He has such high expectations of himself on this trip.  Like THINK all the time and come up with BIG theorems.  Or a theorem. Having mathematical theorems construct and just as easily deconstruct is part of the way mathematics happens. Only here it takes on its own significance because there aren't so many distractions, like teaching, meetings, etc. etc.   In his own way he is experiencing the same things I am, just in different spheres.  His expectations are mathematical, mine are spiritual.     The shadow self above goes with returning to Valencia, getting our feet back on terra firma and reassessing where we are.  I watched my mind shift with lightning speed from what weeds are growing in the garden and yard here to what must be growing like crazy in my yard in Fountain Hill, PA.  But not to worry, there will be time to pick those weeds, and see what herbs have come up on their own.  Likely we will miss the roses blooming this year in Fountain Hill, but  another time.

April 20,2008

"When I let go of what I am,
  I become what I might be."

-- Lao Tzu

Yesterday we spent in transit between what felt like the 12th century back to the 21st century.  Avila and Salamanca were places with antiquities.  Yes there are modern areas where people live, but the majority of the churches and historic cites are in the old sectors.
But the trains were taking us back to Valencia.  This little pilgrim was tired from bucking the wind in Salamanca and the rains dampened the verve for more Teresiana.  It felt like we were being ripped from one culture to another.  A sense I haven’t had recently.

David worked with Pablo Chacon in Salamanca. 

He and David have posed in the courtyard of a palacio that was used in the 16th century as a residence for  students from Ireland and now a University of Salamanca hotel and restaurant complex.  Typical of the gold stone of Salamanca is the New Cathedral that is 15th century next to the old one that is 13th century. One of the big ironies is that in the repair of the entrance wall to the new cathedral is a wonderful, modern astronaut,  it's the highlight for schoolkids seeing the cathedral.  

Probably the deepest part of my experience in Salamanca was finding the Casa de Santa Teresa.  Though it is now the headquarters for the Congregation of the Servants of St. Joseph Workers, founded by a Jesuit, Francisco Butinya and Bonifacia Rodriguez de Castro (who will be the first saint from Salamanca).  It’s name hasn’t changed -- they realize that the historic moments of Teresa in the house have marked the space forever.  And apparently there are sufficient people interested in her and her works.  More people read Interior Castles than almost any other book about Saints.

I was so anxious to see it, I waited outside for 30 minutes for it to open, so I stood outside in the sun and wrote in my journal.  At the appointed time, I rang the bell and after awhile, a woman came from the office next door and asked “si quieres pasar?  Did I ever? Of course there was another large statue of Teresa with a goat on her shoulder in the Plaza de Santa Teresa across the street. Teresa describes the time in Salamanca in her book Foundations.  

The guide, a woman in her 60’s or 70’s took my hand and walked me through the history of Teresa in the building. There was an automatic sense of connection.  My face was split from ear to ear in una sonrisa (smile) as she read from Teresa’s book Fundaciones.  I understood most of it, and she was pleased to see that I had done my homework.  I knew about the major challenges of her life.  She took me up to the chapel where Teresa and her fellow nun Maria del Sacramento experienced the Night of Fear, November 1, when the bells of Salamanca ring for the Dead.  This I will have to read up on, because clearly it was a momentous occasion.  Yes, an opportunity for me to investigate what fears hold ME in place.

My balloon sized heart propelled me through the afternoon.  And I wished I had had time to take notes on the tour in English-- to be sure I could understand it all.  So the next day, I went back and she opened the door, I told her I wanted to copy the English guide for my notes.  She said, “Claro,” and fixed me up with a chair and a table.  Then she said, “ Si, lo tengo en mi ordinador.  Imprimo para ti.”  So, true to her word she printed the material for me to take with me.  She then asked if I wanted to take a picture and have  a picture of me in the space. I said, let me take one of you, so I will remember.  So it is that I have a picture and an email address of the woman who was my guide through this space.  She told me my happiness was contagious, and it made her very happy to see someone who was so delighted with Teresa.  I thanked her and she said, “Es la Corazon de Teresa- tenemos."  (It's the heart of Teresa, we all have it.)  She gave me her email address and I will write her back.

My only regret is she told me how to get to the Carmelite convent out of town by bus. And her friend Luz would take me around.  Alas the weather turned cold and freezing and I didn’t have the chutzpah to launch onto a bus, not knowing where I was going.  The point is I know something cool would have happened had I stepped outside of my discomfort zone.  Besides I had two other mathematicians saying, “The Number 4 bus doesn’t really go there to Cabrerizos.”  So I guess I won’t know what was behind door number 4.

April 14, 2008 Salamanca  Letting the Nose be the Guide?

At the moment I am trying to figure out why all of the externals are guiding me to St. Teresa places.  Each one seems to have its own brand of physical challenge for me.

In Granada the residencia,three blocks from the convent for Santa Teresa's nuns, had about ten air fresheners from hell –they bought them by the cartons.

The  hotel in Avila, a few blocks from all Teresa sites had no new paint, but was so dust laden that I was barely able to breathe through my mouth and get through it.  

The Artheus Hotel in Salamanca is RIGHT across the street from the Carmelite Chapel where I prayed today and just down two streets from the Casa de Santa Teresa. It was newly repainted within the last few months.  Dumb one here, didn't mention  the issues with new paint only perfumes.  

In Valencia I had been marveling at the fact that I have had freedom of movement for the most part. I didn’t have to rein in my explorations because places were too smoky, or recently painted.  My environmental sensitivities seemed to have left me after we abandoned the first apartment in the city with it’s Miracle Foam beds.  


  I sound like St Teresa's self-humiliating language before the Inquisition.  So we have a newly painted room. And they have those tiled floors where the radiator runs under the tiles.  Which is very fancy but it's too hot and you burn your feet when you walk in the bathroom barefoot.  Maybe that is about the Carmelites being without shoes just sandals.   I have the windows wide open and am trying to breathe differently and boost my immune system.  I am trying to see this as not unlike Teresa's trials.  It won't kill me but will ask me to look deep inside to see what in me is reacting to this chemical stuff.

Keeping all this in perspective is a curious venture.  It's not all that important in the great scheme of things.  What is important is the friends we meet along the way.  Here are two favorites from Salamanca- Cecilia and her son Nicolas whose dad, Pablo, was David's collaborator.

And here's Nicolas!

“Viendo A’vila se comprende como y de donde se le ocurrio’ a Santa Teresa su imagen del Castillo interior y de las moralas y del diamante.  Porque Avila es un diamante de piedra berroquena, dorada por soles de siglos y siglos de soles.” 

Basically it’s that “Once  you have seen Avila it is clear how and from where the images of the interior castle and the dwellings and the diamond.  Because Avila is a baroque diamond of golden stone.”

letters she signed to kings, etc.  What chutzpah!  She had a wooden figure about 3 feet tall that she put in her chair when she left the monastery and later the convent, He was called the tattler.  When she came back from her travels he would “tell her what had been going on in the place in her absence.”

It overwhelms David.  He can’t take it in and it doesn’t mean much to him. In fact he compared this trip to the trip we made 25 years ago, that I so fondly referred to as seeing Europe by toilet because we picked up an amoeba in Valencia.  This time he is referring to our trip as seeing Spain by convent.  I hope it’s not the same thing.  Maybe there will be a clearing, which is certainly what happened the first time around.

I especially like this photo, full of light that is in the Plaza de Santa Teresa in Avila.  While you can't make out the face on the top of the pedestal, be sure you know whose it is. Surely one could say I am obsessed.  But we all get drawn to someone's ideas or better resonate with the essence of who they are. 

The next entry will be in Salamanca

April 1, 2008 Granada & the Sierra Nevadas

Granada feels its Moorish roots  more than most cities in Spain.  The Alhambra and its Castles look down on our university residence, La Corrala de Santiago. Corrala is a word used to describe a multi-storied building with an large interior courtyard. The snowy Sierra Nevada mountains hale to the south and are visible from many vantage points.  At every turn there are historic and spiritual moments.  The statue of Isabel la Catolica is just down the street from us, yes -- of Ferdinand and Isabella, las tres barcas LaNina, La Pinta y La Santa Maria and the Christopher Columbus event.

  For me there have real opportunities for my heart to expand to twice it’s normal size.  Yesterday I went to see a museum dedicated to San Juan de Dios (John of God) who created an order of catholic monks committed to creating hospitals and serving the poor.  His history is compelling.

 As a soldier in the 1500’s he went with his company abroad and got his fill of the down and dirty side of life as a soldier including quite  raucous and raunchy expeditions.  Feeling guilty for his sins he came to Granada and was converted from his errant ways.  He had, however, an episode of mental illness that saw him running through the streets, pulling his hair and screaming in pain,he was taken to Hospital Real for treatment.  The archbishop of Granada saw in him – hope- and thus saved a human being and created a life dedicated to serving the poor.  But the museum is the house where he died.  He did not want to die in the home of a rich dowager, but was ordered to leave the hospital he served and be taken care of.  Ironically five centuries later it is a space dedicated to his life and works.  There was more LIGHT in that place than I have seen in cathedrals.   I saw the paintings of him, some modern- some 16th -18th century.  Most captured an essence, whether idealized or not, with a powerful sense of devotion.  I felt like I was walking on air.  Photography was prohibited. The guide was a young man in his 20’s also compelled by the  museum to be there.  The Wikipedia site on John of  God is a good one.  As the fates would have it, as I walked away from the  museum entrance, emergency medical technicians were moving an elderly woman accompanied by a nun into an ambulance pulled up right at the entrance to John of God’s sacred space.  I stepped back and focused my attention on her, praying that what was best for her would unfold.  I watched as the two pulled out the stretcher and moved her from the wheelchair to the stretcher. It was a familiar feeling, not unlike the hospice volunteering for Care Alternatives in the US.  I did not know if I was witnessing the passage of another soul or not.  It was hard not to see the Divine in these little moments. Not that I would wish that another person would suffer, but that it was laid before me in such a forceful way.

Perhaps, it was more powerful because I went to the Carmelite’s Convent for Holy Communion that morning.  I don’t know, but it was having a feeling of being led.  It’s like, “See, See, See.”

David and I also went to the Convento de las Carmelitas Descalzas chapel last night for vesperia (vespers) at 7:30 p.m.  I saw a sister at an open door and gave her 10 euros earlier as a donacion.  Then we knocked on the chapel door and someone unlocked the door.  We came into the chapel a single vaulted ceiling with religious art all over. 

On one side was an altar devoted to the Virgen, Jesus on the Cross and Juan del la Cruz (John of the Cross ).  There was a large  painting of Teresa of Avila as we walked in the door and another sculpted polychrome form above the altar.  The small chapel had a glass divider with wrought iron covering to the left of the main altar, there the nuns sit, receive holy communion, sing the songs of the vesperia service and do the responsive readings.  David and I sat in one of the first five rows.  We were the only people visiting the service.  After observing the space, we heard the sisters reading together and the man who opened the chapel offered to share his book of the services, so he gave me his chair near the glassed portion with the sisters on the other side, so I could hear them and he led me in the responsive readings from their book of prayers in Spanish.  I felt as though he heard my desire to be closer.  I would never have been able to follow it otherwise.  His melodious voice carried me through the responses. I sensed that for whatever reason, I was there for exploration of what it feels like to be hooked into the life of the spirit in a different way. I breathed it all in.  As I went back to join David, we sat together in silence and the guide quietly pulled his cell phone out of his pocket went into a hallway across the altar and whispered into the phone.  In a heartbeat, it was over.  We both left feeling more connected to something larger than ourselves.  There are only pictures of the outside of the building, no pictures inside. But I guess that we have pictures etched inside us.

Off the Calle Elvira is an area of teterias and up an old street in the Moorish quarter of the Albaiycin, below the Sacromonte (Sacred Mountain)–the mountain- that is now home to the Gitanos- and flamenco in the painted caves, there is a section of tea houses usually Morrocans run them.  There are small tables with pillows or couches around them, some tables have hookas on them. Since we don’t smoke were not attracted to them All sorts of teas, milk shakes etc. are offered to you and pastries. 

In the narrow streets are many different tea shops and Arab restaurants. The bazaar atmosphere prevailed with bright colorful tapestries hanging from the ceilings, lots of clothing, and beautiful tea services.  It was dark when we were wandering through the roads trying to find something to eat.  David wanted more than pastries and after his experiences in Turkey he was wanting a glass of wine, which they don’t offer in the teterias.

We  took in one of the Flamenco spectaculos, the Gitano culture (gypsy) in Sacromonte, Sacred Mountain, as part of a herd of French retirees. Flamenco resonated with David with the complicated rhythms, clapping, shoes notching the clicking and tapping of the heels onto the stage.  It’s hard to capture the essence of it.  We were prepared for the show to be awful because I chose to buy tickets off the street in a shop.  A minibus was supposed to pick us up at an intersection at 10 p.m.  And they did.  There were about 5 minibuses that cart tourists up the  mountain, the trick was to get the right bus for the Cueva and show you bought.

The performances were staggering.  The coordination of castanets by a woman probably in her late 60’s was stunning.  With tiny almost imperceptible motions she created intense and clear sounds that amplified her own dancing.  Yes, she was clearly one of the organizers of the troupes. It was compelling We will never think of Flamenco as just a performance.  It is deeper than we knew.  We know now that the true flamenco artists are often found in bars playing one of the three types of flamenco songs, the blacksmith's songs, the prison songs, or the bluesy songs of lost love and misery.  But this was a splash of flamenco for the novice.  Apparently we need to go to Seville for the down to earth flamenco musicians.

We have mixed feelings about seeing the Alhambra again. We saw it in 1994 and were awed by the beauty of it.  Now we can see it from afar and rekindle the memories.


Mathematical Aside: 

We are feeling our age now.  David gave his talk today at the University of Granada and we had lunch with Angel Ferandes and his wife Marisol.  They were our hosts in Valencia 25 years ago. It appears we will see them again early in May at the University of Murcia where David will give a talk and then we will likely go off to Alicante on the beach for May 7th for the night of our anniversary—25 years.  The twists and turns of our lives – none of this was planned. 

For those of you mathematicians, here is another curious jog in the road. David was not told that Roger Penrose, who was a Pitcher lecturer at Lehigh years ago, would be in Granada while we are here.  So David’s talk was sandwiched in between two of Penrose’s talks.  People were a little talked out.  Also apparently the University of Granada has  been appointed to house a research institute like IHES in France or MSRI at Berkeley. Other institutes will be in Madrid, Barcelona and Santiago de Compostela in Galicia.  Looks like sabbatical heaven.

 David attended a doctoral defense yesterday which was quite interesting, half was in Spanish, then the candidate  gave the other half of the talk in another language.  He chose English which is apparently quite common.  They must prove they are competent in another language. 

Mathematicians came from quite a distance to hear Penrose speak.  That is how David connected with Angel Ferandes who is quite prolific in producing graduate students.  Looks like David will travel to Univ. of Murcia sometime late April or early May, before he goes to Lyon, France for a conference and further work with his new colleague from the University of Lyon, Vincent.

 Spirit Centered Lessons on Loss & Greed with the Olympus E-Volt 300
(Or Being Saved by a Point and Shoot Canon) Easter Sunday & Resurrection

In the midst of all the images of impermanence connected with Las Fallas and having talked with David about the similarities between the burning of the Fallas and  Tibetan Buddhist sand paintings, and in the throes of shooting a Good Friday procession honoring the death of Jesus, I had an incredible opportunity to see how I cling to images.  Having downloaded my Last Day of Fallas photos onto a DVD, I put the DVD into my computer to decide which photos would make it onto the blog.  I heard a rrrrr-rrrrr-rrrr sound in the disk drive.  This is not the sound of a DVD uploading images.  When I tried to recover them on my external DVD drive, the same searching, grinding sound.  My heart fell and the disappointment was palpable.  David seeing my disgust tried to find a way to recover the images.  At this point in time I don’t have a real back-up system until I select the images I want on the web.  My external hard drive has broken and its replacement does not function with my computer.  The pinnacle of Fallas, gone.  

So, here it is.  I am learning again that putting too much energy around images has a cost.  Feeling greed and envy about images, my camera’s images, the time I have taken to create incredible images of beauty and commentary on what I see, has to be balanced.
So before I went to bed I read some of Tsong-kha-pa’s Great Treatise on the Stages of the Path to Enlightenment. First I saw a section on lascivious behavior, then a section on mindfully being with death. Then a tidbit on judgment and feelings of superiority caught my attention.  I was aware of being the photographer, capturing the images, being in the right place to get the right shot.  Judging others with point and shoots taking photos from miles away.  In the end it is David’s point and shoot that salvaged images of the last day and night of Fallas. 

 I am sorry for my elitist thoughts and am truly aware that in me I have the tendency to focus with desperation on getting the image I want.  In trying too hard, I put at risk the very beauty I am hoping to capture.  So breathe, take in what is out here in the world without wrenching it from the site with my intense desire to get the shot. Photography is about flow not grabbing and stealing an image. Surely the death of my images offers room for reflection.  I am struck that my reaction to losing the images was not righteous anger, but “oh, let them go-easily and gently.”  This is progress.  We get so many opportunities to be reminded of this simple and easy teaching.  The harder we fight, the less in the moment we are.

I felt the reactions of others on Good Friday as I pushed into places where I could see. My intensity was over the top.  It became a photo shoot, not a being there with the camera with people in a loving way.  There is a sense of pride that percolates in me as I look for the “shot”.  It’s not about wrestling the image to the ground, but seeing how it emerges. That is where the beauty is.  The tourist mentality of “never being here again” can take over, tarnishing the experience of being in  this place.  So I am making a choice to be gentler, more playful with my camera and with me.  See where this little reminder takes me.

On a more humorous note.  Portable Passport external drives don’t like tile floors, especially when they fall about three feet.  Alas, use your backup systems doubly well. But if I had, I wouldn’t have had this valuable moment of seeing what I do with the camera that stunts my growth.

Well my adrenaline went into overdrive and we had walked out of my perfect, close position on Calle Reina to get closer to the oncoming processions.  I couldn’t see over the heads of all these tall Spaniards, so I was desperate- not to miss these shots. I was obnoxious, trying to move into the crowd and find little holes under armpits, in between children’s heads for my camera and the on-board flash. I was trying to get in position with the street lights to get a little more light.  There were other people taking photos, lots with video cameras and phones, and me pop,pop,popping away.  So I calmed down, took a deep breath and we walked further down the street and found an opening that didn’t require all the jockeying for position.  It is eminently clear that I was NOT one of the people, but a gawking tourist. 

When I lost my fear of not getting anything on my precious flash card, I was able to get better shots in places where the light was adequate. So, Ryan, it’s about being in the Zen place of No Mind, and capturing what shows itself to you.  The photos are a little grainy, but they are here.  The area is a little grainy as well. Old buildings, tiny multistory ones, beautiful palm trees and lights, and lots of storefronts that are barricaded over with weathered plywood.  There were lots of bars in the area and clubbing places. This is three streets from the beach near Las Arenas- the Playa.

 The Last Days of Las Fallas March 17-19th

I am writing this two days after the end of Las Fallas.  It was impossible to write as we were experiencing the process.  While the notion of creating gigantic and small creative structures, beautifully painted and crafted, only to burn them up (the term here is cremá) , planned but ephemeral, is quite Buddhist –not unlike the Tibetan Buddhist Sand Paintings- it is in an entirely different cultural milieu.  Many of the Fallas are engaging in political, satirical commentary, some are whimsical and downright sexual.  Still the entire Fallas journey is one that builds and builds.  It’s an evolving ritual on parade and evokes the deep sensibility that many Spaniards have for tradition and anarchy.  It is not quite the wanton drunken brawl that New Orleans has been in Mardi Gras, probably because there are still religious overtones to the events.  There is profane and profound happening in what we witnessed.

On Monday, March 17th, David and I sent Elisabeth off to Madrid at the Valencia Train Station at noon, as we came out of the metro it was like walking into Disneyland.  Parades happening, crossing the street to the train station was a challenge.  Had to wait for an opening in the parading Fallas.  You will see lots of the parading women in the photos.  We have since discovered that the dresses they wear often cost as much as 1500 euros.  So as you look at the dresses know they are quite an investment.  So the Fallas gives you an opportunity to wear the dress as much as possible.  

The noise in the streets includes  constant auditory memories of little boys and not so little boys lighting firecrackers that are ubiquitous.  Even as I write this two days later there are sporadic cracklings of fireworks, the really loud popping kind.  If we were in Baghdad we would be terrified.  David and I realized that we are so conditioned in the US to know that firecrackers are illegal and  highly governed that we see them as dangerous.  Here, you see boys 6 and up lighting coils of firecrackers, stepping back and grinning while their little time bombs are ready to blow.  So Fallas is not a quiet time.

A huge mascletá was happening as Elisabeth rode into the  sunset toward Madrid, quite a send off. Think of 1,000 ---21 gun salutes. During the day. In the main square of town people are just smashed together. Like sardines into the square, observing from every possible perch from building balconies, atop the govt. buildings.  Wherever you are there’s an energy moving you to the square,from all possible directions people are converging.  Not running but quickly walking toward their goal at a pretty brisk pace.  People from all over the world were here to see this process unfold.  

On the 17th, we opted to avoid the fireworks but heard it while we walked away.  At about 4:30 p.m. we were looking for a bathroom, sat down at a café on Guillem de Castro to earn the right to use their bathroom.  Surprise, we were at the hub for many of the Fallas Companies bringing flowers to be placed on a huge pyramid of wood outside the Cathedral at the Plaza de la Virgen.  Lots of carnations.  There were little girls carrying them in their arms wearing dresses far bigger than they were. Older women, abuelas in their fiesta dresses, some in wheelchairs, Young women pushing strollers of sleeping babies all decked out in brocade finery.  The men were wearing headscarves, vests, and sandals typical of the area. And photos being taken everywhere.  You will see in the pictures how stunning people look in their outfits.  It’s good this occurred in the Spring because I can imagine people passing out in the heat.  These dresses weigh about 20 lbs. You will also see how normal people are  --smoking in their fancy dresses, drinking beer.  But the processional is full of pageantry.  Huge flower displays sponsored by each Falla being rolled down the streets by men.  

And we caught this totally at random, because I had to pee.  As the parade wore on, at the Plaza de la Virgen where the bouquets of flowers are given to one of the men who receive the flowers then toss them up to the guys standing on the slats highest up on the platform,  you see women crying, bursting with feeling, at being allowed to be in the presence of this huge statue of the Virgen Mary with baby Jesus. 

Above is the backside of the Virgen. It is a monumental interaction.  Also, like the Rose Parade, the flowers are woven into designs that make a phenomenal cloak for the Virgen.  Mind you these parades of flowers take two days to accomplish.  At the end of the second day, the cloak designers who are the only ones who know what the design will be, have put the finishing touches on the platform.  We went back on the 19th to see the finished product.  It’s stunning.

We also dropped by, meaning we walked, out to the suburbs of Valencia to see the winning Falla.  While it was huge, it felt like Disneyworld with all the financial trappings of it.  They charged 5 euros to see it close-up.  This is rare, and it was nicely done, they spent 900,000 euros making it.  Same wealthy Falla has won 5 years in a row and this has changed the dynamics of the Fallas.  Lots of irritation that there is now no level playing field.  See David's point and shoot pictures in the photo section, coming soon.   His are the only extant photos of the end of Fallas, See Easter Sunday entry for explanation.

As we walked away from it, our hope in the satirical form of the Fallas was preserved as we saw a really pointed statement in a Falla that was more to our liking. It’s a punked out female singer, a guitarist, a graffiti artist.  Nou Campanar-the Disney version took all the fun out of the Falla.  Old Campanar-the punked version brought it back.

On Wednesday, we tromped back to the Metro, exhausted and went home to cool our heals until the little tiny Fallas in our village La Canyada were set to be burned.  Hustling to the Puerta del Sol square, there were lots of people with kids, older folks, (I am not one of them yet!)  All surrounded by kids setting off firecrackers into the crowds.  

We ate and drank with the locals while the children’s Falla burned, then the crowd changed.  The teenagers came out and with them the heavy artillery fireworks.  The adolescents were typically adolescent, but they did follow the advice of elders when there antics got a little too close, were a little too loud.  It’s remarkable that people don’t react to the explosions for the most part.  It’s just a part of the experience.  We, on the other hand, are going “Wow,” “Damn that was close.”  

I had my camera ready with tripod at the site of the cremá—ready to snap away.  But in the end all my careful planning went up in smoke.  The fireworks they set off to ignite the Fallas, so freaked out my camera that it wouldn’t even work. Way too much light.  So I ripped it off the tripod, changed the setting to automatic, and dodged the flaming debris falling from the sky to get a few interesting shots.  We didn’t know about the huge blasts of light, It would have been better to have a long lens and be on top of a building.  But No!  

We decided not to go into Valencia to see the big Fallas burn and good thing.  We saw the entire process on television when we got home .  It was like walking home to a deep thunderous drumbeat as the fireworks for the burning of all the other Fallas in the region started up.  But the television coverage was fixated on the “Queen” of the Fallas for 2008.  She is viewed as a huge symbol.  Like Miss America, she has to smile be at every event for six months and wear her dress, makeup and the Ebro hairstyle, the coiled braids over the side of the head.  Now that would get old.  But as they burned the Falla in the Ayuntamiento, they zeroed in on her face, there were tears.  This was the end of her reign as the Fallera Major—which is a huge honor.  I imagine today she is sleeping in for a few weeks. Not quite New Year’s Eve giving way to the new year, but Las Fallas ending is like a cycle ending.  Only to start up again with renewed vigor after the summer.   The huge irony is that the day after Las Fallas ends- after 6 weeks of intense activity, suddenly - emotionally as an observer you go from bands playing raucous marches, think John Phillip Sousa to  wailing and lamentation; from bright wild colors to Good Friday with the Nazarenos.  S

 Las Fallas mania is taking over here in Valencia.  This is an especially auspicious time because Las Fallas begins March 17-19 with spectacular fireworks displays. Mascletá is the term used for LOUD popping sounding fireworks.  Pyrotecnia is used for the big pretty displays.  Spaniards love things that go “Bang”.  But Fallas Week coincides with Holy Week, which is a rare phenomenon.  So there will be parades for Fallas, fireworks at midnight and on the 18th and 19th there will be burnings of the Fallas starting at 1:00 a.m., yes that’s in the morning. This also the week for Father's Day in Spain. So there are people on the streets until about 5 a.m.  Most people are on vacation, or little work is getting done.  The University of Valencia, Burjassot is closed all this next week for Fallas and Friday for Good Friday.  So there’s one good work day this week.  Easter week, this Sunday is Palm Sunday, then for the next two weeks there are festivals and parades with crosses at Malvarrosa Beach for Easter and Semana Santa.  Most people in Spain try to travel and take vacations at this time, so the travel agencies are doing a bustling business.  On the metro you hear people talking about whether they went to the Mascletá and yesterday I saw a baby, maybe a year old with a scarf around his neck with the symbols of one of the Fallero teams.  For those of you in Philadelphia, it’s very similar to the Mummer’s groups.  

Of course, the physical excitement of Las Fallas is visible everywhere downtown in Valencia.  Huge displays cover the streets with the Street Names and the Name of the Fallas in Lights. Neighborhoods take on responsibility for creating an artistic rendering of the sculpture that will grow to be almost  100 feet high.  Wednesday night Antonio Naveira and his wife Tata took us around the Ruzafa district, which has the most Falla sculptures (Ninots).  It was incredible.  Many of the streets are closed off, so driving a car is crazy.  We are including photos that we have taken of the Fallas we observed.  There is an air of Mardi Gras in the air.  When we went to dinner Wednesday night at Cinquenta Cinc, a wonderful restaurant at Calle de Reina ni Germania, the cab driver had to back down a one way street to get us out of Ruzafa.  All the other outlets were blocked.  So it was interesting.  You will see some of the amazing lights as well in the photos.  There are streets, four or five blocks long with Moorish motif lights that create stunning eye candy. 

There are rumors that the chief of the Fallas celebration has more responsibility and power in Valencia than the alcalde (mayor).  The only way to get around is by metro and the rail workers are on strike.  But a strike means there are altered hours, not that the whole thing is shut down.  Apparently this is an annual affair, power plays with the city and the unions.  Millions of people are coming to Valencia.  We have seen the visitors coming in on metros.  Most are coming for the Fallas AND Easter.  So it’s a double whammy.

Today Elisabeth and David are going downtown with David’s Spanish tutor, a really nice woman.  There is a mascletá at 2 p.m.-then they will try to find lunch (comida)in the city for lunch.  There is not a free, unreserved table at any restaurant in the city for these things.  So best bring your lunch. I have seen the mascleta before and was a little overdone by the 2 hours of walking we did on Wednesday night, so I will rest.  That was compounded by walking to the top of the Valencia Cathedral tower, the Miguelete.  Very narrow tower and at least 150 very steep stairs.  A railing on the side was a life-line.  But the view from atop was spectacular.  The sunset was amazing.

Elisabeth gets on the train to Madrid on Monday, 17th which should be interesting because her train leaves during a Mascletá.  So snaking through the crowds with luggage should be a real hoot.  Provided of course that getting on the metro is possible.  The buses won’t be running then because they are on strike….You get the picture.  We have enjoyed Elisabeth’s visit and know that she has by the number of pictures she has taken.  She’s almost finished transcribing her interviews from Turkey so that will be a big help to her research.  While we are immersed in this, Gwen is applying to Lehigh so is busy getting all her applications in.  Bless her heart!  That’s a lot of work. And it includes the regulation work in taking care of the house in Fountain Hill.  So we are grateful all around.

David and Elisabeth flew to Istanbul (Estambul in Spanish) on the first of March and were met at the airport by Ismail Kocayusufoglu(see photo of Ismail in photo section), David's former student at Lehigh.  He is now the proud father of three children, Faruk(8 years old) the youngest, Furkan (15) the oldest and a daughter Zeynap who is about 13 years old shown above with her mother,Aysun. Aysun was very generous with Elisabeth, helping her all the way.  Elisabeth told her she felt like she has a Turkish mother now.  Ismail took extremely good care of David and Elisabeth throughout their stay in Turkey.  They were able to see the historic buildings like the Blue Mosque and the Aya Sofia the most important legacy of Constantine's conversion church in their last days spent in Istanbul.  They stayed in a little hotel known for location, walking distance to the famous sites.  I am using some of Elisabeth's pictures from the trip to illustrate what they showed me.  

When he picked them up they headed through Istanbul 5 p.m. traffic, which is quite intense to a roadside restaurant where they started their journey.  Ismail was very generous.  David did not have a pin number for credit card use in restaurants so ... it was difficult.  The first part of the week they were in Eskishehir Ismail's  University (Osmangazi).  He was instrumental in helping Elisabeth find women who spoke English at the University, to interview about the headscarf issue for Muslim women.  She is very excited that she now has a better understanding of the complicated terrain around which the headscarf issue is situated.  The other day when she was talking about her study, she said, "Now I feel like I am ready to write my thesis."  Having first hand discussions with the 12 Turkish Muslim women helped her to put the dynamics together in a way that she might not have had she just relied on literature reviews by other scholars.  So we thank Ismail and Aysun for their help in opening up Elisabeth's research and networking her with women willing to talk about their challenges and beliefs about wearing the headscarf.

David is still amazed by his Turkish academic experience.  First he was met by vice president of Ismail's university before he gave his talk to 200 undergraduates.  He was given a pen and a keychain.  After the talk he was taken to lunch with the vice president and give a beautiful ceramic plate. The next day he went to another university (Dumlupnar) and spoke to what he thought would be a faculty group.  Turned out to be faculty AND 250 more Turkish students.  It all went well.  He was doing historical talks about Poincare conjecture and other issues relevant to modern geometric research.  Afterwards, about 50 students waited outside while David talked with faculty.  They wanted to take his picture.  So if you are down and feeling low, go to Turkey-give a talk--they are extremely gracious and appreciative.  

They also had time to go touring in the countryside and saw incredible natural formations. Some you will see in the Turkey pictures here in this blog.  To give you a taste.  David and Elisabeth report that Turkish tea is offered at every turn, wherever they were.-stores, cafes, along with lots of yoghurt drinks and bottled water.  They were also treated to lots of lamb and meat as honored guests.

Elisabeth managed to pick up a bug, so had to go off and hide for a few days after she had finished her interviews.  But she has recovered well and is now discovering the difference between Castillian,Valencian and Mexican Spanish.  A lot to take in.  They brought back gifts, rugs, purses, pottery.  We have no idea how to get it back, but we will even pay the surcharge to get it on the plane.  

Apparently the journey to Turkey will continue, David has been asked to do a talk at a conference with 5 other foreign speakers July 1-4.  So he will turn around after we get back and he gets his summer work prepared and then he will go off to Turkey just  before Second Summer Session.  He expects to stay more in touch with Ismail and his mathematics. 

Traveling with saints all around you is an awe inspiring experience.  In the streets of Valencia and almost every little borough or pueblo, it's easy to see that history lives in the street names.  One particular saint keeps calling me- Santa Teresa of Avila, or Teresa de Jesus.  I have been reading her biography before we left and her masterpiece THE INTERIOR CASTLE.  The biography by Medwick Teresa of Avila is written for lay person and scholar alike.  Part of the omnipresence of Teresa is that there is so much with her memory embedded in the way of the cities themselves.

She was in her 60's when she wrote the Interior Castle, was tired and yet was told by authorities she had to write the book as advice fore her followers on spiritual matters. All this is taken from Mirabai Starr's introduction to her translation of The Interior Castle. 

So she said,"Beloved, I have no idea what to say here.  If you want me to do this thing,you're going to have to speak through me."  Nuns who witnessed the writing said that it was "like automatic writing. Her hands flew across the page, her face tilted upwards in a constant state of bliss. She wrote the whole manuscript in 2 months." 

So in her visions she created 7 dwellings as a vehicle for arriving at spiritual evolution. The first allows  you to meet the reptiles and demons whose soul goal is to thwart you in  your soul's journey to union. It is through prayer that Teresa emerged from the first dwelling, not unscathed but with soul in tact.  The second house is where we learn to tune out the clamor of the mundane world and tune into the delicate voice of God. She heard the voice of God through other souls on the path, and sacred literature. In the Third House you experience the dark night of th soul.  Nothing you do seems to make things go easier.  It's a point of being really stuck.  She says it is a test of humility.  If the soul can stop trying to figure out God with the mind and concentrate on feelings of the heart she can learn to surrender to that which is larger than herself.  Without boring you with all the details the first three dwellings are those where she evolves  through her own conscious effort, the last three are where God takes over.  The message then, for me, is not to think much but to love much and so to do whatever best awakens me to love."

Most of you are probably aware of her writings. They are relatively new for me. So I think my photography is going to change in a way, to look for those things that open my heart in Spain. Looking for the remnants of Teresa living and dead.

The latest A HA, was that my new bodyworker Novella Maddalena's practice is just off the Carrer de Santa Teresa in downtown Valencia. 17 La Bolseria, Valencia.  She has just come from Switzerland to start a practice here and she speaks English. Which made being there so easy. No struggle.  Her work is amazing.  In one session she was able to move me out of the body strains I had taken on for the whole trip, and some for my entire life.  I felt fully restored and ready to explore more.  To get here, pack, take care of last minute details, find a place to live, deal with the flu, and being in a flood of language that was passing right over my head, took all my energy.  Now I am reminded that I need to tap into the divine energy more and more, so I am not using up my little pocketful of personal power.

Our first apartamento in Plaza Merced, right next to the central market (Mercat Central) was 2 blocks away from Calle de Santa Teresa.  So it's like the Hansel and Gretal finding your way by leaving clues on the ground. 

Likwise, I ran into The Emoto exhibit at the Modern Art Museum in Valencia. 

www.masaru-emoto.net/english/entop.html

Had NO idea what was showing there.  To my amazement I went in and discovered a series of exhibits about body fluids, water, milk and blood.  Emoto's water crystals and the profound effects of intent on the water crystals were featured, then the milk section was of women squirting milk from their boobs into the ocean, into old men's mouths, into babies mouths.  The blood section involved a medical student (live) who was doing ultrasounds of people's hearts and giving them the print out of their hearts' functioning.  I spoke t o her.  She's doing a residency in cardiology but is waiting for it to start. So the good news is I have a heart that beats, thump, thump. The videos were by Bigas Luna, director of Jamon, Jamon a film that Javier Bardem.  the guy who won best supporting actor was in No Country for Old Men.  Actually it was quite interesting that the Emoto stuff was in mainstream museum in Spain.

Later that night I kept getting messages that what I needed,more than anything was to engage it a little self-reflection on the condition of my heart. Opening to those things that give joy, not rolling around in the misery of forcing myself to meditate.  So the next day I  went out for a walk in my barrio and adventured with my camera.  It's so obvious when we pay attention.  The gate pictures are part of that exploration. So that those gates are all closed tells me where I need to start.  Opening!

  As I was walking back to the metro, right across the street from the Modern Art Museum, I noticed a convento for discalced Carmelite nuns- right  across the street- a convent founded by Santa Teresa.  Discalced nuns are those who agreed to follow the HARD path of absolute dedication, discipline in service.  Very protected from the world. There is not even an inch through which you could see into the convent which covers an entire block with it's own chapel.  I would love to know  more about them, but clearly it's an insider job.   But the message was clear, it's all linked together.  The convent right across from the Museum.  There are different ways into your soul's work.  Art and intense submission.  Or maybe as we submit to photography, art, etc. we are practicing a discipline that is of Spirit. Thunk.  Interesting how spirit works.