My Adventures at Pranadanza

In the midst of my first week here in Granada, I don't think I could have imagined exactly what was going to happen with each opportunity I was given to teach. In the midst of emails, phone calls and interviews, I never thought that that message I received in my inbox my second week here saying “come to the studio at 19.00- un beso, Silvia” (in Spanish of course) would have opened so many doors, to a place in Granada that so few here, even the Granadinos get to know. My time at Pranadanza, the only dance studio in this city specializing in dances of the world was truly incredible, and took me on an adventure throughout Granada that I am sorry to say I could not have taken on my own.

The week I went to meet with Silvia was one filled with excitement. I had already gotten over the nervousness of meeting with people, and talking with them about my class hoping to get hired, and since I had been fairly successful, I left my apartment with a smile ready for what came next. Carrying my notebook with the handwritten directions in the cold of a night in February, I turned onto the street called “Acera del Triunfo.” As I walked down the street, confused, and trying to find the exact address, I realized that really most of the graffiti of Granada was not in the famous barrio Realejo (known for its amazing graffiti art), but in fact was right here on this street. (This street couldn't be famous,however because it was obvious that the graffiti that was present here was the project of drunk, stupid, angry people at 4am.) Finding myself lost, I asked a group of "alternative" looking people sitting outside of what seemed to be a drug rehabilitation facility.. “uhh numero 19?”. One of them drunkenly pointed at the stoop that was right next to me, missing the number, as I ran up the steps and rang the button for Pranadanza. I was immediately let into a completely pitch black corridor, and as I turned the corner, I saw at the end of the hall a short, tiny little man, completely illuminated, telling me the friendliest “Hola” I had ever heard in my life. As he gave me two kisses on the cheek, I introduced myself. He told me he was Mario, that Silvia would be there soon, and that he was sorry he couldn't talk because two girls were waiting for him inside the studio to begin the African class. As he slipped into the door I sat down and began to take in my surroundings. The studio felt like a Moroccan cave, a converted first floor flat with exceedingly low ceilings draped with tapestries, artwork, burning incense and a multiplicity of photographs of the man I had just met, and the woman I perceived I was about to meet, dressed in elaborate costumes. The question about these would be answered later.

The door of the cave opened to reveal Silvia, a woman almost as tiny as the man I had just met with long dark hair,and dressed in garb almost as colorful as Mario. As she greeted me, the two of us sat at her desk to talk about my class. After showing her the video I had taken of one of my classes in Santa Cruz, and giving her the best description I could of the class in my nervous-infused Spanish, she was on board, gave me a schedule, and asked me to send her some materials to start making posters to put up around Granada. During the first meeting, however she gave me a very important warning. As a foreigner and an artist herself, speaking from experience she told me that the people of this city were tricky. While their bohemian garb can be deceiving, at most times they can be very closed minded and are not open to trying new things. So, to form a group in the dance world, and begin teaching something new can be very difficult. She wanted to give me a chance, however because she saw me as a nice and open person. And so it began!

I started going to the studio more often. I started taking African dance classes with Mario, which Silvia soon took over(she was recovering from an injury) and working on promotion for the class. Silvia studied graphic design, so she made the posters for me. Almost immediately I started spending my mornings walking around the city putting up my posters in every available spot I could find. I told everyone I had met in my first month in the country about my class. And then I waited.... I waited in March. I went to the studio at 6 in the afternoon every Tuesday and Thursday waiting for someone to come, but ended up talking with Mario for an hour about life and art. Every time I came he told me not to give up, and not to take it personally. I waited in April,after Semana Santa with the sun finally shining again with new posters and new information posted all around the city. I baited and waited but in the end... no one. It turned out, however that I didn't mind. It's amazing how much one can learn from waiting. Speaking seriously, I had no idea exactly how much I learned about life, passion, people, and the city I was living in, and myself sitting in that cave two hours a week.

The first thing I learned was about my two partners. Silvia, an Argentinian woman now in her late 30's had been living in Granada for the past 6 years. She told me when she was younger she fell in love with a man from San Francisco but things didn't end up working out, and in the end decided to move to Spain. She studied graphic design at the University of Buenos Aires, but decided to abandon it because she felt the study was exceedingly commercial, something she didn't like. Immediately after, she began dedicating herself full time to the studies of belly dance, African dance, as well as a number of dances from India. And let me tell you this: her pursuit was not in vain. On the wall in the studio there are a number of placards showing her certifications in dance. Many of them, Francisco told me are from the most well known dance studio in Spain in Madrid, which now I can't remember the name of. And let me tell you this woman can dance!

Her partner in crime is Mario a dancer by day and actor/drag queen by night. His stage personality is Lola Power, a woman with crazy makeup, a bright pink wig,who prances around wearing a flamenco costume. Originally from a small town in Andalusia, he decided from a young age that acting and performing was what he was meant to do, (and while it is something not at all respected in country that only recently has shed the dead skin of dictatorship, and now is in the midst of an economic crisis), he doesn't care. Acting and performing is his job, but what differs between the public workers in Spain and him is that he absolutely loves it. Sometimes if you go out to one of the alternative clubs here you can see him dressed in one of his colorful tunics lighting up the dance floor of if you walk around the streets of Granada you can see him, with his painted face, walking on stilts charming the people or doing some sort of promotion for a show.

Together, these two form Pranadanza, a duo that puts on Oriental cabaret's filled with Circus, fire, dancing, and comedy around the city, as well as some in Sevilla and Madrid. While Mario serves as the master of ceremonies, doing comedy, and some African dance, Silvia performs at least 5 dances. With their talents combined with the lights, fire,and costumes their shows are truly one of a kind, and are something so magnificent that to me it is a mystery why they don't have their own sold out theater in New York City. In the studio you can see them planning their next show or making their own costumes.(I once saw Silvia cutting up old cd's to make her constructed belly dance bra shine.) They formed the dance studio because of the passion they both have for art, and to teach these talents to the people of Granada. They keep persevering with the same dedicated passion, constantly opening themselves up while the people of Granada remain consistently closed. Something I learned from my waiting, and what Silvia had warned me of in the beginning was that there is something about trying new things that completely appalls the people here. They have their piercings, tattoos, dreadlocks, and play their instruments, but their minds are just as closed as their grandparents who suffered through the civil war. If its raining they don't want to dance. If its sunny they don't want to dance. If it's a weekend, holiday, or festival they don't want to dance. If it's the perfect temperature and they have nothing else to do that day they would rather go drink a beer at a bar. That is all fine and dandy, but can be frustrating when you are trying (like my two friends) to offer something unique, new and beautiful, and the whole world turns their back to you. From my point of view it was surprising, coming from a place like Santa Cruz, which in reality is a small town, but every day of the week offers an African dance class with live percussion that is packed. Like I said, I was able to teach my class at gyms, where people were more open to the idea since it came free with their membership. My experiences at Pranadanza were valuable because of the people I was with, what I learned, and the fact that I got to participate in the end of one of their truly special cabaret's in the famous Alhambra Palace hotel, making the waiting a treasured part of the process.

AND THEN CAME THE CABARET

At the end of April we decided to cut the slot we had aligned for Worldanz, and replace it with more time to rehearse for the upcoming cabaret in June. A week before the show opened I dressed up with Mario and walked around Granada doing a promotional performance. Back at the studio,along with Mario, Silvia, and I came three other girls who would dance in the two African numbers. The five of us spent long hours in the studio with Silvia directing her creation. The theme of this cabaret was the creation of man, containing dances of fire, water, stars, as well as a circle of woman, representing the struggles women have faced throughout time since Eve supposedly ate the apple. A week before the show opened, along with the 5 of us and the 2 girls dancing belly dance, we were joined by the rest of the hippy art brigade. The first one was Francisco, the guy who played an instrument (that I can't remember the name of) that appeared to be a mix between a piano and an accordion, who lent the instrument to be played in the circle of women. The second was Alex, a guy who has never taken lessons, but dances like he would be in the New York ballet company, and who can pop and lock like no one I have ever seen in person. The third was Estrella, a woman from Malaga dressed like she had just spent some time in rural Guatemala, who would join us to sing some indigenous songs from Latin America(not sure which language), play a drum, read poetry, as well do some Native American dancing(again not sure which tribe or where exactly the dance was from). Along with them came a man dressed in a long white tunic with a scarf around his head, who introduced himself as Javi, a friend of Silvia and Mario's, (who although wasn't in the cabaret, I'm assuming just showed up to hang out with everyone and help out.) Then the night of the show, the fire guy, yes the fire guy, Sylvan dressed entirely in black leather made his appearance, which only reinstated the fact that we could have had our own HBO program. The studio, filled with all of these wonderful people and the smells of incense and marijuana was an exciting place to be this week as everyone prepared for the big show. While the process was long and hard, in the end it tuned into something beautiful and magical, and something I will never forget with people I felt like I had known for a long time. Halfway across the world I was scared about not finding my people, but I did. People, who few and far between here persist doing the things that they love, and made my experience here so unique. Thank you Pranadanza.

Here are some videos and photos to bring to life the story..

Here is a video that Pranadanza has on their website.

http://www.pranadanza.com/videos.php

Here is the place we performed..

 http://www.h-alhambrapalace.es/history-en.html

some pictures of the cabaret..

http://www.granadacultural.info/fotografias/galerias.php?directorio=0--098Fpranadanza&max=5&tmax=120

and the video of the fire dance

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10150886847557895&notif_t=like

How Far I've Come

Lately,(and by lately I mean for the past two months or so) I have been attempting to just keep track of what has been happening with me here. It seems once I find the time to really concentrate on writing, something changes, and then I have to rework everything that I expected to communicate. Finally I feel like things have come to a still point and I feel like I can communicate what I have been wanting to to all my friends and family. So here it is: the update.

Living here has been an experience like any other. This time around, my journey has been probably about ten times more intense than anything my Californian classmates are experiencing. You can only imagine what I mean by this. Even though this is my second time around, the number of things I have discovered about myself and this crazy place I have been living in have doubled, tripled, and quadrupled. I have managed to immerse myself almost completely. While other Californians in my program have branched out and met a new friend from UC Santa Barbara when they are from UC San Diego, and stay in their comfort zone only hanging out with each other,and going to the same burger joint where the waiters speak English I was going out an talking to every technical director of every gym possible begging them to hire me, performing in oriental cabarets, shouting fitness cues in Spanish, and dancing with the 9 pairs of aunts and uncles and 25 first cousins of my boyfriend in two different weddings. So, yes this is what I have been doing.

The experience that has overwhelmingly characterized my journey this time has been that of Worldanz. First off, for the past two and a half months I have been teaching at two different gyms, Monday Wednesday, and Friday. The Monday Wednesday gym has been paying me 13 euros/hr, and the Friday gym compensated me by giving me the membership free, along with an English teaching job, but we'll talk about that later. After getting these two jobs, I went and tried to get hired by the two biggest and most well known gyms here to get more press for the class. I went to the first one, called Yodiez on a Tuesday morning dressed in my work out clothes, walked up to the desk, and asked to speak with the technical director about teaching. By this time I had already got over the nervousness of talking with my potential bosses in Spanish and had already taught my first class, so I felt like I was on top of the world. The two very skinny blond women in the front desk working in their palace were apparently opposed to me feeling this way .One of them told me to come back in three hours, and when I did the other one told me very annoyed that he still wasn't here and that I would have to WAIT in the WAITING room, telling me almost as if it were a feat that no human has yet accomplished. Well I did it ladies, I waited 40 more minutes for the king of the palace to show up. Dario, a young guy probably still in his 20's told me that he only had a two hour space for me in a certain room 4 days of the week. This would have been perfect but the hours were 11-2 and I had class at the University at this time every day, and had passed the date to where I would be able to change my schedule. He told me to call him if anything changed, and I said okay kicking myself on the way out for choosing to take my church in society class, the worst class ever instead of getting to teach at the palace. I went to the other big gym with high hopes as well, only to be told over the phone by the technical director that she had absolutely no space for me and would call me when she did. The thing is is that everything happens for a reason. For example if I had chosen different classes and had been able to teach at the palace, one of the two blond skinny robots could have killed me with here death laser stare as I walked into work one day, and then I wouldn't be here today. (At least this is what I try to tell myself when I try to fall asleep at night.)

I decided to stick with the two gyms that had accommodated me from the very beginning. The owners have been very nice with me from the get go, but even though I have classes the process of getting students has been a roller coaster. For some reason I thought preparing the music, and the dances, and memorizing things would be the hardest part of the whole thing, which I have come to discover has been the easiest part. The trick is getting students. The thing is that a huge dance aerobics revolution hasn't hit here yet. I'm living in a world where there is no such thing as 80's dressed jazzercisers or zumba moms dressed like skittles. This has been an advantage because I was able to get a class really fast, but sometimes has been a disadvantage since, if people don't know what it is they are exceedingly hesitant to try it. I'm living in a world where the men always stay with the weights and the women still choose to do squats and step aerobics for an hour rather than something new and different. The majority of people who have come to my class have told me they love it, and I get to see them fairly regularly. There have been some people, however that have told me that the class is too hard physically, that there is too much jumping and they sweat to much, and then I'm like, in my head WHY DID YOU JOIN A GYM DERRR, while in reality I have to tell them to not be timid, to modify whenever possible, and to keep trying. Promoting this class has been like promoting a business. I talk to everyone I know about the class, when I'm at the gym I go up to people and ask if they've tried it, I put up posters, I ask if my customers are satisfied, if they would like me to change or add anything. Sometimes I have a lot of people come, and sometimes I am my only customer, and these days I have to pack up my music, take a deep breath, give myself a pat on the shoulder, and walk out with pride. The truth is is that I love doing it. I love teaching, but even the things you love aren't always easy and smooth sailing. You must persevere!

My vacations in “El Valle de Los Pedroches”: the comforts of home ,the stares of old men, and my big fat Spanish wedding

My first impression....

In the past two months I have been lucky enough to have a five day break from classes in March as well as a 10 day break in April for Semana Santa, the holy week. Since I had the time during these breaks, I made my way to the hometown of Francisco to spend time with him and his family in Pozoblanco, the biggest town in the north of Cordoba. The town is most renown for its milk, from the company Covap, and of course for its pigs, which are said to produce the finest jamon in all of Spain.

To get to Pozoblanco I have to take two buses, one from Granada to Cordoba, and the other from Cordoba to Pozoblanco. In my first trip from Cordoba, I sat next to Francisco's best friend Andres (as well as every other University student returning to their hometown during their vacations), who unfortunately had to deal with my purging of nerves during the entire trip there. What was I nervous about? Meeting my boyfriend's family for the first time of course! (And hoping that I had a good enough grasp of the language in order to communicate with them.) From the bus, Pozoblanco appeared as a splotch of white on the countryside of oak trees, grass, cows, sheep, and PIGS.

When the bus pulled into the station Andres and I were greeted by my favorite smiling face, Francisco, so beginning my first experience in a small Andalusian town. You can't get more of an immersion experience than this University of California!

The meeting of the parents commenced when, after picking me up from the bus station we greeted them in the kitchen after they returned from their daily mass. After meeting them, the immediate viewing of all the family photos began, with Francisco's father narrating every one of them in the loudest, clearest Spanish he could conjure. They cooked a wonderful dinner for all of us to celebrate my arrival, and of course ended up being very nice and loving people, and not fire breathing dragons as I thought in during the bus ride over. Francisco's father even told me I looked and dressed like a Spanish girl (which I'm guessing was a compliment), but asked Francisco later why I didn't wear high heels :) That night Francisco and I decided to take a walk so he could show me parts of the town, which coincided with meeting more of his family. The thing about Pozoblanco is that, as Francisco's best friend says half the town is Francisco's cousin. We stepped out of his piso, walked 20 ft, and ran into one of his cousins with his friends. As we continued onto one of the main streets we ran into his aunt and uncle. As we walked a little more, we ran into another cousin with her friend, and a little more after that that same cousin's twin sister within five more minutes. (All of this occurred within 30 minutes by the way). (The next day when we decided to running we ran into another uncle, another cousin with his girlfriend, and were told by one of his other uncles that he saw us running in his car.)

The next day Francisco's parents left to spend their vacations in Malaga on the beach, so we decided to do some tourism in the Valle de Los Pedroches. Our first stop was the town Los Pedroches, a town which has existed before the Romans and one in which I think has about 10 inhabitants. As we walked along one of its bustling streets, talking and laughing, the one or two old men sharing the street with us not so discreetly turned their heads 360 degrees to stare at us. “You are not from here”, they thought. Then....all of a sudden..... we heard a creak.... a door opening.... and turned to see a little old head with a puff of white hair peering out their door to get a peak at us. It stayed there, pretending we didn't see it. We walk 20 more feet...still there...20 more...still there. We walked until the head was a speck...still there! I guess watching Francisco and I walk up a street has the equivalent excitement of watching a resurrected Jesus do back flips because honestly, that is what I felt like.

After visiting a few more towns we made our way to Hinojosa del Duque, where Francisco's grandmother and aunt currently live. (Francisco's dad asked them to come in live in Pozoblanco so they could be closer to him, but his aunt said they wanted to live in a town, not a big city like Pozoblanco.....) They showed me the house, (which has a collection of books from the 1700s) and guided us around the town and were two of the sweetest women I have ever met. It was a great way to end our day of tourism in the towns in the north of Cordoba.

Our following days in Pozoblanco were much more relaxed, spending time with Francisco's friends, making food, and taking walks through the town, which proved to be a nice, more low key contrast to the next time I would returning three weeks later.

My second impression, the wedding...

Three weeks later I returned to Pozoblanco during Semana Santa for the wedding of Francisco's second oldest brother, Enrique. (Francisco has three brothers,Jose, Antonio, and Enrique. Enrique was the only one I hadn't met before). He had his wedding during Semana Santa because he works and lives in Uruguay now, and because the next time he would be coming back to Pozoblanco would be in Christmas, the wedding would have to be in April. I call this experience my big fat Spanish wedding because the entire week consisted of constantly eating, drinking, and meeting the rest of Francisco's huge family. (His mother is one of 9 so he has 8 pairs of aunts and uncles, and around 25 first cousins.) (Also his mother is named Ana, along with 7 other of his girl cousins.)

After spending the weekend before Semana Santa in the youngest of his aunt's houses in the country close to the city of Jaen we made our way to Pozoblanco with her oldest daughter...Ana..and arrived that afternoon. We got there, greeted his parents, said goodby to Ana, ate, and made our way to his friend Andres's house for the merienda (the after siesta meal you eat between lunch and dinner.) We bought some cakes along the way for a gift, because it was Andres's birthday and arrived at his family's piso only to be greeted by his parents, aunt, cousins, and two grandma's. Along with the cakes we bought, Andres's mom made two cakes herself, which weren't rich at all (that's a lie). It was a merienda buffet ahhhhh. After spending time there we made our way to Andres and Francisco's friend Jose Maria's house, and there were greeted by Jose Maria, his mother, his sister, and his grandmother. As I said, I was having the true Spanish immersion experience. We had dinner that night with Francisco's parents,brothers, and his very pregnant sister-in-law(along with occasional aunts and uncles dropping by the piso to say hello). Day number one of my big fat Spanish wedding was complete.

The second day was the official wedding in the court of Pozoblanco followed by a lunch in a local hotel. The wedding in the court would only include the close family of the soon to be husband and wife, and two close friends of theirs, (which still ended up being over 20 people.)We didn't have to wake up until 9:30, but with the sound of doors slamming, ironing, and hurried voices that began at 7:30 that was a long lost dream. The next hour was a blur. From what I remember it was just a series of people, me included whizzing by with suits, jackets, hair brushes and tooth brushes, as well as the non stop noise of the shower. The last thing I remember is that I somehow was dressed and Francisco's father was clapping joyfully because I was wearing high heels.

Francisco and I left earlier than everybody to pick up his aunt and grandmother in Hinojosa del Duque, a town that is about a 20 minute drive from Pozoblanco. We made our way to the courthouse with his poor little grandmother expressing how she couldn't understand how people could get married without marrying in the Catholic church. This is Spain babay! The ceremony passed by quickly, and immediately after the entire family made their way to the restaurant. The lunch began with a salad which was there waiting for everybody, and before anyone had time to put one piece of lettuce in their mouth, the floods of pork came a rushing. I know what you're thinking, Johanna at a table full of pork, what was she to do? The truth was, I wasn't worried because after the 5 or 6 plates of pork that were put on the table, the waiter came to the table and handed out menus. So, at the end of the lunch when everyone else left the restaurant almost pregnant, I was smooth sailing!

The next day was the ceremony part of the wedding and followed somewhat the same pattern. We woke up early with the same blur of people bustling around the piso, with the same amount of combined excitement and chaos. We rushed out the door dressed and ready and piled into a car. The ceremony took place in huge country home in a nearby town with a an enormous banquet hall for a wedding. Driving up to the house on the dirt road we could see the oak trees spread out on the countryside with various farm animals roaming around and feeding. The clouds above were dark, forshadowing the rain that would follow. In the beginning of May in the south of Spain it was freezing, and as we waited for the bride and groom to do their thing, while more of Francisco's family piled into the courtyard, it began to rain. The ceremony was beautiful, but it really seemed as if no one was paying any attention; one because of the weather, and two because really, the couple had officially been married the day before, so the listening of the continuous love prose didn't seem to interest the Garcias very much. When it ended, everyone made their way into the banquet hall to begin the eating contest that apparently is characteristic of Spanish weddings. It was a foodie's dream.

The eating began with selected wines and beers followed by the “tapas” or appetizers. I was thinking about the best way to describe the food that was present at the party, and the only thing I could think of is if you imagine if you were to “wikipedia” Spanish Cuisine, and then about twenty different foods are listed on the page. Well, about 16 of these things were served to us. Three different types of croquetas, jamon iberico, cheese, anchovies, pickled eggplant, two different types of gazpacho; I really think the only thing that was missing was a 20ft wide pot of paella being cooked right in the middle of the party. After this came the lunch, (and no I'm not joking) which consisted of about 9 different plates preceding the main course and then desert. The majority of these had pork, but the fact that I don't eat pork seemed to be a blessing because I, unlike everyone else was still left with the ability to stand up after the meal. Two hours later a variety of different pastries were put out, and three hours after that came the “redinner.” It was very convenient, actually because during the four/five hours of dancing and music that took place, if you stopped for three seconds and felt the sensation of wanting to put something in your mouth, there was a big plate of fried fish right next to you, so you could do it.

The dancing, of course was my favorite part of the wedding. Francisco's brother Enrique, and his wife have a huge passion for music, so they hired a really fun rock band from Granada to come play live and had preselected a good number of songs to party hard to. Towards the end, Francisco and his brother dressed up as the blues brothers and did the dance from the movie for the family. It was so adorable! At the end of the night, after a full day of eating, dancing, and drinking from an open bar, I collapsed into bed, and slept a good 13 hours. Ahh and there it was: my first Spanish wedding!

Street Urchins with dreadlocks and cute dogs, revolutionary graffiti, and a communist protest.. I thought I left Santa Cruz?

The things I jammed into my first week in Granada, most people take a month or so to do. In one week I moved into my new apartment, started classes at the University, joined a gym, and began to secure employment for myself at this same gym and a dance studio teaching Worldanz. Am I crazy or something? Everything seems to be happening so fast that I have trouble trying to keep track what exactly is going on. Was it really two weeks ago that I was at a zumbathon at Aptos High School freaking out about coming to Spain? In the time frame of my brain that was a year ago.

I arrived in Madrid at 8 in the morning, greeted by Francisco after not having slept in about three days. He had secured everything ahead of time, so all I had to do was hold his hand while he lead my dead walking self to the hotel, the cell phone store, and around the city. It was the best welcome I could have asked for. After having slept about 11 hours we went right to the bus station and took the next bus to Granada, duration 5 hours, arriving in Granada at about 7 that evening.

The first thing I noticed after the bus disembarked and we caught the next available taxi was that not only was the bus station flooded with young people but the streets were as well. Unlike the buildings of Cordoba or Madrid, almost every one here was tagged with some sort of graffiti, most of it proclaiming some sort of revolutionary statement. When we walked around the streets later that night I couldn't help noticing that the 21^stcentury fountain of youth had flooded into my new home. Dreadlocks, piercings, cigarettes, saggy pants, oh my! I started to feel like I was back at Porter College or on Pacific Avenue in Santa Cruz, just taking a stroll. Or in Portlandia. I took a sigh of relief as I surveyed my new home, Granada, where the Iberian youth go to retire.

The next day we began by going to see my new apartment, which is located right in the center of the city. (Really if you looked at a map of the city and put your finger right in the middle of it, you would land on my new home).We met with my stereotypical Spanish landlord Pablo (who showed up 45 minutes after the scheduled meeting time and even forgot how much I owed him) and signed all the paperwork for the flat. The place is incredibly spacious, with five bedrooms and two bathrooms and a huge living room. My housemates had already been living there for most of the year so all I had to worry about was buying my groceries and unpacking my stuff. I could not have asked for a better living situation. I live with three Spanish girls and one girl from Greece, who are all incredibly nice and welcoming people(and who are in to the idea of me teaching a practice Worldanz class in our living room). Woo!

After saying goodbye to Francisco on Sunday I began my classes the next day at the University of Granada. My first class? Advanced Instrumental Spanish. Class demographic? 13 Americans. Could any of us understand what the professor was saying? Hahahahahaha......no. Ahh and so it began!

Most of my classes were the next day at the school of philosophy and languages. (Unlike California Spain has real Universities where there are about 8 different schools within each one, spread throughout the city. AND if you want to study something within the Humanities department you don´t have to live in a constant state of fear that some transfer student from a community college will take your spot in the class, and it will fill up or that if you turn away from the enrollment page of your student portal for three seconds to sneeze, the class is cut from the University) That day I went to three other classes that I had enrolled in, and had to crash one at the end of the day because my second class of the day was so boring that it was imperative that I drop it. The last one i decided to crash, and eventually add to my schedule was entitled ¨North American Literature¨.. taught in English. In case you were wondering I am not ashamed that I copped out and took this class because I am still unable to understand what 3/4s of my professors are saying!When I say this to Francisco and my housemates they tell me ¨poco a poco¨¨ meaning little by little I will start to pick up the language as a fluent speaker. Oh great spirit I hope so!

The last great events of this past week have been the beginning of my Worldanz journey in Granada. Right when Francisco left last Sunday I went home and sent emails to all of the owners of the gyms and dance studios in Granada that had expressed their interest in me teaching Worldanz, telling them that I was in Granada and ready! The first to respond and meet with me was Maria, the owner of Club Salud de Imagen. I met with her on Monday, nervous out of my mind. In reality, I had nothing to worry about because before i opened my mouth she was already convinced about the idea, and willing to have me teach the class in her space even though she didn´t have room in the permanent schedule, and was completely convinced that people would like it. She said we would talk more the next week since it was a long weekend coming up and her and every other Granadian would be out of town for the long weekend. I decided to join her gym as well since it was incredibly close to my flat, clean, well-run, and wasn´t full of cologne soaked weightlifters. They also offered a great variety of classes. The first spin class I went to the teacher adorned a huge curly headed wig, and a clown nose and kept telling everyone he was a hippy. Again. Am I in Santa Cruz?

My next meeting was the next day with Vera, the more whimsical owner of 4X4 Multidanza who greeted me in her dance clothes adorned with leg warmers. Multidanza was a small dance studio completely hidden in the old part of the city. (Honestly I had to ask about 5 people where it was along the way.) When I talked with her about Worldanz she was excited, intrigued, scared, and confused all at once. In the end she told me she could give me two classes a week. The only problem was that she was scared that we might have trouble getting students to come, since she herself has trouble getting students to come to her own classes. I told her not to worry, that I would help her put up fliers and get the message out because I was sure people were going to like it. (At least this is what I hope) Walking away from the meeting I couldn´t help having the same exact emotions as Vera. I was of course excited but at the same time completely terrified that this whole thing was not going to work out. But this is the journey I have to take, and after all I have only been here one week.

As I walked through the streets of Granada the first week I couldn´t help seeing signs of my home. Every day I’m approached by young people in the street passing out fliers about some political agenda only to turn my head to see young people with dreadlocks, musical instruments and cute dogs lining the street. The second day we witnessed a protest by the Communist party of Spain, only to pass by at least 5 buildings that had that mysterious unnamed but well known skunk smell that flooded the Porter dorms my first year of college. I´m so far from my home and miss it, but am reassured that this place I chose to live in has signs of familiarity. I´m anxious to know what will happen in the next 6 months, but am so incredibly thankful that I chose to take this journey, because a journey it will definitely be.

Here I go Again

Well here I go again. With my whole 1ife's belongings stuffed into four bags and two boxes (which my aunt so generously let me store in her garage) ,I once again head to Ethpana, the country of jamon, sunshine, Antonio Banderas, and......dreams! (This is really only 10% true since Spain has a lot more to offer than that.) As I sit in the San Diego airport watching the sun rise with a number of non San Diego natives, my mind cannot of course stop thinking about what lies ahead.

I still cannot believe this day has come. It was only little over a year ago that I was flying home from Spain, dreading the fact that I once again would have to live in my native country. It was only a year and a half ago that I was sitting in the airport terrified out of my mind to go and live in a foreign country by myself. So much has changed since then.

Last year I began my journey on my own, not knowing anyone, and with never having visited the country I was about to explore. Like I said I was TERRIFIED, but still had the comfort of a few things.

For instance I went on this amazing journey knowing that a good majority of my friends from the Porter Freshman dorms were doing the same. While we were all spread around the European continent we were all still connected in some universal way. We were joined by the awkwardness and random thrills of our first year of adulthood, and even though now we were separated we were still left with the comfort that we would once again come together and connect with each other about our new experiences. This time around I am alone in a different way.

This time I know the place I am going to, and have someone very close to me, whom I love living here. I know the food, I know the gel-slicked fohawks and the tiny Roman streets with impossibly visible street signs, and I...sort of ahem know the language. So what the blazes am I so worried about? I guess that it's this lack of knowing what comes after. I'm done with college and I'm going to Spain in full-geared life mode, with the option of staying for the rest of my life or returning to the promise land of uncertainties in California. I have no idea what is coming next!

Last time my goals were simple. Go to Cordoba. Stay with a Spanish senora. Eat some new food. Learn the language. Experience the Culture. Travel. Maybe some new friends .Go out to bars and clubs so I can rub it in to all of my under 21 year old friends' faces. Come home. Done. My goals this time are not so clear cut. Solidifying my Spanish skills is of course the top of my list but I have something a bit more crazy in mind. I vowed before I left Santa Cruz to forever keep dance and working out as a part of my life. So what comes next you ask? Yes, I want to rock Granada with the craziest form of dance aerobics they have ever seen, dreamed or heard of: WORLDANZ!. Are they ready? Am I ready? Who knows? Who cares? because here I come!