Spanish Graffiti

While I was reading the article, 5Pointz, a Graffiti Mecca in Queens, Is Wiped Clean Overnight, images of graffiti shot into my head from when I was in Spain a few months ago. I was drawn to them during my travels because of a sudden interest spurred on by a Banksy lesson that I had prepared for my students. As I think back on it, it was probably my most popular lesson. In fact, it produced the most lively discussion out of all the ones we had. Why is that? What is it about graffiti that drew me and my students in? Conformity vs. Non-conformity? Creation and rebellion? That is food for another entry altogether.

Madrid's graffiti scene wasn't anything spectacular, but it did offer something unique as far as my graffiti knowledge is concerned. I'm talking about roll-up doors (puertas enrollables) of small businesses throughout the city. These were usually spray painted over by hired graffiti artists in order to deter vandalism, or what I like to call "bad graffiti"; in essence, using graffiti to fight graffiti.

A graffitied kiosk in Madrid by the famous graffiti artist, Muelle.

A graffitied wall near Puerta del Ángel

Now, it seemed that the rest of the city gave way to a battleground of tags or phrases. Generally speaking, tags are not aesthetically pleasing, but some along el Paseo de Extremadura are elaborately done giving off the vibe that they were done more to show off talent than to claim territory. But out of all the graffiti I saw in the capital, nothing really compared to what I saw in Cartagena.

Cartagena is located in the region of Murcia on the Mediterranean coast and is known for its naval station, Roman theater, and historical importance during the Roman Empire. It is not known for Graffiti. So, I was lucky to come across urban works of art. Here are a few examples. I really wish I had taken more pictures.

¡Hasta luego!

Hometown History and Faith

Since I came back from Madrid I've had Spain on the brain all the time. I think they call it reverse culture shock. Anyway, I had more than enough reasons for it this past Sunday. I'm talking about the Vatican granting the title of Basilica Shrine of Saint Mary to Saint Mary Catholic Church, the church I grew up in. Yup, a basilica. Its a fancy name for a church that has a rich history and a unique architectural design. North Carolinians should be proud.

Okay, first things first, the architect of St. Mary Shrine & Basilica was a Spaniard who had immigrated to the U.S. in 1881. His name was Rafael Guastavino Moreno and you could say his roots are aptly reflected in the Spanish Baroque style of the basilica. I found this out right before I went to Spain and this kind of blew my mind at the time because I was obsessed with all things Hispanic then. Guastavino was born in Valencia, Spain and he died in Asheville, NC where he is buried in another basilica that he built in 1905, the Basilica of Saint Lawrence. After doing a little bit of research I discovered that he has also been instrumental in designing architechturally important and famous buildings in the United States such as Grand Central Terminal, Carnagie Hall, and the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City. He also designed the Jefferson Standard Building in Greensboro, NC, the city where I'm living in right now. What many of these buildings had in common was the use of brick tile in place of wooden or steal beams. This worked by interlocking terracotta tiles with layers of mortar which produced self-supporting arches and vaults which were virtually indestructable. Pretty cool, right?

New York City, City Hall Subway Station, Guastavino tile.

Apart from her architechtural greatness, St. Mary's social, cultural, and religious history is something to marvel at too. She was founded in 1845 by Irish immigrants under the name of St. Thomas the Apostle where Father Murphy, an Irish immigrant was appointed its first pastor. The church also served as a beacon of education, helping establish the first parochial schools in the area in the late 1860s. The Sister's of Mercy were the driving force behind them and worked to educate Jewish and black children at a time when they were not allowed into the city's public schools. By the 1900s Wilmington's Catholic population had grown to the point that another church had to be built on Fifth avenue. This would be St. Mary Church along with St. Mary School. Meanwhile, St. Thomas would continue its services and education for African-American Catholics under the guidance of the Josephites and the African-American nuns of the Handmaids of the Most Pure Heart of Mary. Rightly, In the 1960s the two congregations merged into one at St. Mary Church along with their respective schools and faculty. In the late 1980s into the late 1990s a wave of immigration came from Latin America. As a way to integrate Latin American Catholics into the flock, the church began to offer mass in Spanish. As a result, St. Mary's cultural heritage now includes a more diverse congregation, reflecting  the universality of the Catholic Church.

What truly makes St. Marys special in my eyes, as the bishop reiterated that Sunday, is that she has always served as a home for the "other", a home whose foundation is bolstered by a community outreach center that provides services for the poor, the immigrant, the stranger. This was one of the reasons my mother was drawn to St. Mary's when she first immigrated to North Carolina from Colombia in the 1980s. And it is what draws people from all walks of life to the basilica. Yet, what sets her apart today is her accepting and inclusion of the immigrant in a time when the topic of immigration raises heated tension. That is what I call an active and true faith and I like to think that it is mirrored in St. Mary's rich history and architecture.

Basilica Shrine of St. Mary

PARIS IS A DREAM.

Paris c'est un rêve. Para mi lo fue. Un sueño genial....y a veces creo que lo he soñado de verdad. Pero las fotos son evidencia de que esto no es cierto. Estuve allí. Ayer. Ahora he vuelto a Madrid y extrañamente era como volver a casa. ¿Me he instalado tanto en la capital española para que me sintiese tal? Pero mi casa está al otro lado del atlántico....pero, no. No es así. Ahora no es tan blanco y negro.

Son ciertas las palabras de Séneca: No he nacido para estar en un solo rincón. Mi patria es el mundo entero. Asi debe ser para todos nosotros. Paris y Madrid ya son parte de mi. Distintas pero propias. No las voy a comparar. Eso será para otro día.

En fin, París es un gigante parque de atracciones; Disney Land Paris es de sobra. No he visto una ciudad con tanto monumento impresionante que, por cierto, unen las imponentes bulevares que están salpicadas por cafés y tiendas -Les Champs Elysees- por dar un ejemplo metropolitano -La Rue de Monmartre- por dar un ejemplo íntimo. Te sientes que estás en la peli de Amélie (vi el restaurante donde trabaja en Montmartre).

Te digo, los museos son impresionantes, los catedrales te dan escalofrio y las luces amarillentas por la noche te dan la sensación que estás viviendo un misterio. El de la vida. En fin, es una mezcla de lo abrumador y lo eufórico. Lo repito, Paris Je t'aime.

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Cuando pienso en París, pienso en la música que oí. Es normal como me fui justo en el finde de El Día de la Música que se celebra por toda europa. Todavia tengo grabada la imagen de un pequeño parque iluminado por luces multicolores que venía del escenario donde tocaba un grupo de Reggae Francés. La energía de la multidud que nos rodeaba era palpable. Después fuimos a otro distrito donde habia un mini-arco de triunfo. Dos o tres manzanas en adelante había gente bailando en la calle en frente de un bar; había dos parlantes monstruosos a los dos lados de la puerta. La gente gozaba a música Hip-hop estadounidense y para mi fue curioso y agradable a las misma vez. Bailábamos. Recuerdo que también había un coro cantando en el parque que está adelante del Louvre, oí varios músicos en el metro. Gente hacía b-boying ante la torre Eiffel.....en fin, me pregunto: es París siempre tan musical? Tendré que volver. Y aun así, creo cualquier día aunque no fuera el Día de la Música, la ciudad todavía rezumaría música.

También pensé en mi padre. ¿Qué habrá sentido al entrar a la Ciudad de las Luces en aquella época? ¿Por cuáles calles habría caminado? ¿Las mismas que yo? ¿Había música? En una ciudad recién liberada seguro que la había. En fin, aquel tema será para otro día.

A bientôt!

Singing Again. In Deutsch.

¡Feliz Día del Libro!

Poems in English for My Students

So, one of my colleagues at school has asked me to bring in several poems or short plays to practice rhythm and intonation in English. I also was asked to look for poems expressing different emotional states as well...regret, fear, anger, happiness, elation, etc. Seems like perfect timing since this month is National Poetry Month...at least in the U.S. If you know of or have a favorite poem that I could use please let me know!!!

One of my favorite poems is

The Road Not Taken

by Robert Frost:

Two roads diverged in a yellow road,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long I stood

And looked down as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence;

      Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I-

          I took the one less travelled by,

        And that has made all the difference.

But, perhaps, its a little too long for my students. I want each student to recite a poem at least twice. Another great poem that would work well, is Dreams, by Langston Hughes because it is not too long and flows well:

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken winged-bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow

Now, if you know of any poems in iambic pentameter that would be great too because it naturally captures the rhythm of English. Shakespeare was and is famous for it. The first line of one of his most famous sonnets is analyzed below:

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Shall (-) I (+) com (-) pare (+) thee(-) to(+) a(-) sum(+)mer's(-) day(+)

(-) for unstressed, (+) for stressed.

Now, I'm not keen on finding poems with the verboseness of Shakespeare exactly. I need something more understandable and relatable like Hughes' poem above. Also, if anyone knows of Dr. Seuss material that is free on the internet, let me know.

Thank you!

The First Penélope Cruz: Sara Montiel

Amid the media storm of Thatchermania, two giants of Spanish history, Sara Montiel and José Luis Sampedro, passed away this week (this article will be focusing on Montiel). I wonder whether news of their departure has reached North American shores. Unfortunately, even Montiel had to compete, so it seemed, with Thatcher here in Spain as they both died on the same day. When I walked in the teacher's lounge that morning my eye zeroed in on a newspaper laying on one of the tables. It was El País and on the front cover was a massive black and white photo of Margaret Thatcher on the front page. It was a surprise to say the least. If it hadn't been for watching The Iron Lady last February or watching my Dad's Reagan videos a few years back, I probably wouldn't have realized how important she was (U.S./World history when I was in high school never went past World War II. Sad, I know). Then again, as one of the most prominent figures of the 20th century, it would have been hard not to know of her "legacy".

At the top right corner, underneath the title, was a small picture of Sara Montiel with the corresponding page numbers hinting at her legacy. I asked one colleague that if Sara Montiel was one of the most important Spanish actresses ever, why wasn't she on the front page instead? She responded, "In my humble opinion, in history, Margaret Thatcher was a much more important person." I can agree with that. Another colleague, however, put it differently and said, "They should have put the Angel on the front page instead of the Demon". After listening to his spiel, I think he had a point.

Sara Montiel was born in 1928 near Ciudad Real, Spain and made her way into acting, like many actors do today, through singing first. She was apparently discovered after singing at a high school event by a local patron. At the age of 16 she made her first movie in Barcelona, Empezó con boda which launched her career in Spain. After making a few films with moderate success, she moved to Mexico in 1950 at the height of its Golden Age where her career took off at lightning speed. She was featured in the box office hits Cárcel de mujeres, Furia roja and three hugely popular films with the great Mexican actor Pedro Infante, Necesito dinero, Ahí viene Martín Corona, y El enamorado where her indomitable spirit tested the "macho" character.  After leaving her mark on Mexican Cinema, she made the leap to Hollywood where she attracted the attention of directors and actors. Her Hollywood debut was in the legendary 1955 western Vera Cruz where she played a supporting role alongside actors Gary Cooper and Burt Lancaster. Her second Hollywood film was the musical Serenade with tenor Mario Lanza, and stars Joan Fontaine and Vincent Price.

According to one of my colleagues, it was on the set of Serenade, which was being filmed right next to Giant (starring Elizabether Taylor and James Dean), where Sara Montiel and James Dean began their affair. In fact, the last photograph showing James Dean alive and well is the one where he is next to Sara Montiel; they're both laughing histerically about something. Its a beautiful photo, really. My colleague added that apparently they were supposed to leave together the day that Dean died, but a last minute job conflict stopped her from going with him. Had she left with him she might have died in that accident as well. Who knows? Years later, Montiel would say she noticed that Dean appeared to need glasses, but probably never got them because it would have hurt his image. Nevertheless, Montiel eventually married the director of Serenade, Anthony Mann in 1957.

Like so many Spanish artists at the time and due to the Franco dictatorship, Montiel had to find success abroad before she would earn star status in her native Spain. She returned in 1957 and starred in El Último Cuplé (The Last Couplet) which was an instant box office hit across Europe and Latin America. On top of that, it became one of the highest grossing movies in Spanish Cinema History. The movie also showcased her singing ability and because of it she immortalized many couplets (a light and popular musical style; a sung monologue). It would be the first of many successful films in Spain.

In the end, Sara Montiel's beauty and voice captured audiences around the world. Had she not crossed the pond to spread her wings, her fame might not have been what it is today, Spanish cinema might not be what it is today. She was the first Spanish actress to make in Hollywood; she was the first "Penélope Cruz". And although in today's world of angels and demons where demons usually win out on publicity, there are those that like to pay homage to angels regardless.

Resumen Del Mes de Marzo

March went by like a rollercoaster; "montaña rusa" in Spanish, which translates to Russian Mountain. I wonder why that is? We have a new flat mate from Moldova. Interestingly, she speaks Russian, not Moldovan, which is, in reality, a dialect of Romanian. As I was saying, March was so jam-packed with events that, well, a lo mejor sería más fácil si os lo cuento en español? Yes, I think I should. Tengo que escribir en español, o sea, castellano. Me hace mucha falta. Y, al parecerse raro, a veces es easier. Perdón. O sea, a veces te sale como un chorro de agua. El inglés, como un drenaje atascado. El castellano es mucho mas flexible; se puede cambiar el orden del sintáxis. En inglés, no tanto. Es un gran tema. Casi igual a lo del Gurtel.

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El primer finde de Marzo nos fuimos, quatro miembros del coro y yo, a Córdoba. Como ciudad, es preciosa, y como gente, majísima. Encima de eso, las chicas, divinas. Hasta las feas son guapas. Bueno, en cuanto a la comida ni lo cuento...se come bien y demasiado hasta que te revientas. Te lo juro. La Mezquita, impresionante como siempre. La judería y los alrededores, un laberinto pintoresco. El sentimiento que te sientes que estás reviviendo siglos y siglos de historia, no tiene precio. En fin, fuimos a cantar el Requiem de Gabriel Fauré (debe ser listening obligatorio para todos) y fue como si estuviera cantando con un coro de ángeles. En realidad, habíamos juntado fuerzas con dos coros de Córdoba y la orquesta de allí en una iglesía al norte. Por primera vez, aunque no deberia hacerlo, tomé undescancito de unos segundos durante el concierto para escucharles a los demás y era, como he dicho, voces angélicas.

Al regresar, trabajé mucho. Murió Chávez. Hubo nuevo Papa. Argentino además y todos los medios del mundo se pusieron locos. Pero se notó un timbre de sarcasmo en las voces de los españoles. Tiene que ver con el complejo de inferioridad que tienen hacian los Argentinos. Claro, ¿a quién no? Tienen Mate, Maradona, Tango, y Borges. 

Hubieron más manifestaciones y huelgas. ¡Huelgas universitarias primero y luego huelga de Metro. ¡Madre mía! ¿Que ocurrería si esto occuriera en mi pais?

Salí varias veces con mis amigos, claro. Es necesario después de enfrentar mucho chaval y chavala de instituto. Lo que destaca es un restaurante griego en Huertas y pasadas noches en Il Morto Qui Parla en Lavapiés. Y, por su puesto, una noche estupenda en el bar James Joyce para el Día de San Patricio.

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Pronto llegó Semana Santa y me fui pa Barcelona. ¡Pero que ciudad tan preciosa! Me quedé enamorado de los edificios de Gaudía: La Casa Millá, La Casa Batlló (el Passeig de Gràcia es como la Gran Vía pero menos claustrofóbico y más verdoso), y sobre todo La Sagrada Familia. La fachada principal parcecía pierda combada. En fin, un edificio ecéntrico y misterioso a la vez. El hecho de que tengan animales por toda la superficie me encanta. Un himno a la naturaleza. Desafortunadamente no pude entrar asi que me toca volver cuando venga mi hermano.

El segundo o tercer dia que estuve, alquilé una bicicleta y hice un recorrido de la ciudad. Es la mejor forma de descubrir una ciudad te lo digo. Y en Barcelona se mueve súper bien en bici. Subí desde el Barrio Gótico donde me quedaba en un alberque (¿cómo es posible que el Barrio Gótico pueda ser tan precioso y sucio a la misma vez) hasta el Parc Güell. La entrada al parque es estupendo. Subes y las vistas de la ciudad y la costa es magnífica. Pero luego el parque te parece sobrevalorado. Yo esperaba mas escultura con azulejos.

En fin, había tanta gente, pero tanta gente que habría sido imposible que no te encontrases con algún conocido. Efectivamente es lo que pasó. Me encontré con un amigo de una amiga y nos fuimos al barrio Born donde los pijos de Barcelona van a hacer farra. Fuimos a un lugar de crepes y cócteles. A la persona que le surgió esa idea es un genio. Pero, en fin, como de día había gente "coming out of the wood work", de noche habían tres o cuarto gatos. La vida noctura allí no tiene nada que ver con la vida nocturna de Madrid. Lo siento.

Luego mi amigo me mandó un mensaje pidiéndome un favor que me fuera a La Central Del raval para encontrar un libro desconocido que solo se encontraba en esa librería de todas las librerías de españa. Entonces acepté la misión. Subí por Las Ramblas y giré a la izquierda en calle Bon Success. Era una callejuela prácticamente que zigzagueaba por una zona del Barrio Gótico que no había conocido. Estaba salpicada por tiendas hipster y cafés bohemios. Cuando entré a la librería su carácter de laberinto me ahogó. Pero pronto lo superé y me fui explorando el lugar hasta que encontré la sección de cómics y me quedé allí no sé cuanto tiempo. En fin, me acordé de la razón por la cual había venido y me fui a la seccón de literatura Hispanoamericana. No estaba. Le pregunté al tio detrás de las mesa. Se fue y en diez minutos volvió. Misión completada o como se diga.

Me fui el día siguiente con prisas añorando los batidos y fruta fresca de la Boquería. En un parpado de ojo estaba en el tren con rumbo a Madrid. Intenté dormír pero era imposible. El rio Ebro me distraía a veces. Era hermoso, mucho mas un rio que el Tajo que es feo. Leí un poco del Great Gatsby y por fin pude cerrar ojo. En nada estaba de vuelto a Madrid.

Hasta luego.

Exposición en La Reina Sofía

En el Museo Reina Sofía hay una exposición emocionante que te traslada a los años ochenta en América latina está hasta el 11 de Marzo de 2013. No te lo pierdas.

http://www.museoreinasofia.es/exposiciones/actuales/perder-forma-humana.html

SPANISH LINKS TO TIMBUKTU

An article was printed in the Spanish news paper El País a few weeks ago that caught my attention because it mentioned Timbuktu, Mali in the title: El chófer que salvó la biblioteca andalusí de Tombuctú. Lately I have been drawn to this city because of its historical significance in world history and its current significance in World affairs. But the fact that this West African city has actual ties to Spain made me even more curious.

During the 14th century Timbuktu rose to prominence in West Africa due to the trans-Saharan trade which in turn introduced Islam to the area. Its importance was acknowledged in Europe as can be seen in the famous Catalan Atlas drawn and written in 1375. Yet, it was in the next century when Timbuktu flourished, becoming an important center for Islamic scholarship producing thousands of manuscripts and engaging in a book trade with the Islamic world. That's pretty awesome if you ask me. Since then its greatness has obviously dwindled but not its ability to fascinate people.

Sadly and ironically, in July 2012 radical islamists (see: Northern Mali Conflict) invaded the city and began destroying historic sites, particularly mausoleums of ancient muslim saints. It was an event that didn't recieve much media attention in America as I recall it this past summer. The opposite has been true here in Europe, especially since the liberation of the city by French forces.

According to the article, days after the "jihadist invasion", the director of the Andalusian Library of Timbuktu fled the city taking with him a significant amount of the library's legacy and leaving the rest under the guidance of one of his chaufers. The radicals visited the library on several occasions with the intent of destroying a "Jewish library" (There are many manuscripts written in Hebrew among them). Fortunately, the library itself has survived. Only the main office has been ransacked.

Now, why is there an Andalusian library in Timbuktu? I did a little bit of research and apparently descendants of the Muslims and Jews who were expelled from Spain, particulary Andalusia, during the Reconquista settled in Timbuktu. Hundreds of years later one of them has opened a library with documents and manuscripts detailing his family's history in Spain and their adopted homeland: Africa.

Further information on the subject can be found on the webpage of the above article. You have to be able to read Spanish though ;) But you also have the rest of the internet at your disposal. ¡Hasta luego!

Below is a picture of the Djinguereber Mosque in Timbuktu.

¡¡¿¿QUÉ DICES??!!

SERIOUSLY, YOU HAVE TO WATCH THIS!!

¡El Coro De La Complutense Canta Este Sábado!

Underdog

For the past two weeks I've been giving a baseball lesson to my 3rd year students and each time they've loved it. Baseball is perhaps the least appreciated of American sports in Europe, so I decided I'd give 'em a dose of that ole ball game and maybe promote it a little, you know? Anyhow, the term underdog came up as I was trying to describe the Boston Red Sox. "Can you guess what this means?" I asked. "¡Debajo perro!" some shouted. I could barely contain my urge to laugh. That is, of course, the literal translation of underdog in Spanish. After explaining that it was a metaphor someone then said, "Like Atlético de Madrid." Bingo. I couldn't have said it better myself. Now, in another class I ended up mentioning that Slum (from the slums of Mumbai) + dog (from underdog) + Millionare = Slumdog Millionaire. There was an erruption of Aaahhhhhhs.

So, I'm suddenly curious about the etymology of the word. According to Wikipedia: (very professional of me, I know) The use of the term is believed to have come from the blood-sport known as bear-baiting where    the "top-dog" was trained to attack the bear's throat and head, and the "underdog" was trained to attack the bear's underside. The top-dog had a better chance of surviving and of beating the bear, whereas the underdog was more likely to die.

Spain Wins 2013 World Handball Championship

SPAIN WINS ITS SECOND WORLD MEN'S HANDBALL CHAMPIONSHIP, 

BEATING DENMARK 35-19!

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day

In celebration of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and for the benefit of my students, I am posting Dr. King's famous I Have A Dream speech. It is one of the greatest speeches ever given in history by one of the most inspiring individuals who ever lived. His eloquent words speak the TRUTH and it is NECESSARY to REMEMBER them. Below is his famous speech divided into two parts. Enjoy!