Death by Jesus (last year nostalgia)

Semana Santa, the holy week, brings a lot of questions to the surface. Especially when spent in the south of Spain. Andalucíans take pride in celebrating this week in the most grandiose manner possible; with processions, worship and packed streets they seem to be searching for penance for the lazy year passed. Andalucía, and Cádiz in particular, is known for its lethargic and laid back attitude. Why work when you can enjoy life? Unemployment rates are the highest in all of Spain here, yet no one seems to mind. This is Cádiz, the city that smiles, the city that makes you smile.

As a sceptic Protestant Jew with a fascination for eastern religions, a procession can at first be slightly difficult to digest. Correction; is at first a frightening experience. Why? Because you don’t know what to react to first; the over exposure of Jesus and the Virgin Mary, or the fanatic behaviour surrounding it. Is it not just all a way to show off the assets of the church in the end?

As a gesture of remembrance and identification with the sufferance of Jesus, large processions take place in all of Andalucía throughout the week prior to Easter. It is nowhere near Easter bunnies and sweet eggs hidden in the garden. Instead people mobilise themselves to find the processions that lie them closest to heart, all through the week. Granted, sweets exist, but it is more similar to buying popcorn before going to the cinema. While awaiting a procession you will find people sitting on a chair (brought from home) on the side of the streets nibbling on sunflower seeds and overly sweet lollypops. As the procession comes closer the tension rises and the crowd grows. Some will have been waiting long. Maybe to get a closer glimpse of Jesus, I don’t know. I’m just wondering how all this fuss makes anyone feel closer to God.

Then finally, comes the procession, first the men (women or children as well, but frankly one can’t tell) with the hats and covered faces, who look like they belong with the KKK (but we try to say that quietly not to offend anyone). Some carry wax candles others signs or crosses that are symbols of the fraternity of the church, somewhere in there is always a sign that says SPQR (the ancient roman designation of a king) which was in fact put on top of Jesus’ cross as he was crucified, to mock him, a friend tells me. Then come the men with the embellished candlesticks who lead way for the grand platform, or what not; an enormous piece of wood often embellished with gold or silver and fresh flowers. On it stands some kind of image of Jesus, embodying part of the story of his last 12 days alive. Under it; forty to fifty men who gladly and even voluntarily carry this beast around for the duration of the passing, which can last up to ten hours, if not more. After this comes the band and then….another procession or, better, another part of it, which is in the honour of the Virgin Mary. Men with candles and incense escort her through the streets. And again; a band. In between we find the people walking for penance; those who carry a cross or wear chains around their ankles, or simply the quiet crowd of followers crying for the pain and sufferance of Christ their saviour. And where was he to save me from this? I keep thinking to myself.

But I don’t know. Walking through the streets, where the atmosphere is filled with vacation and exited expectations, there in some way a sense of belonging, a grander purpose. I find myself respecting it. Still I don’t really know how to relate. There are far too many questions and far too much critique for me to swallow this pill whole.

A friend and I walk down the street and turn a corner. In front of us: the KKK dressed in purple and black. The streets are narrow and full. I grab her hand, because yes, truthfully, it frightens me. Through the holes in the cap I can see the eyes of the first person in the procession following every individual crossing his path. Although I can’t see his regard I can apprehend the pride in his posture. I know I don’t want to make them angry or in any way disrespect their tradition. We try to find a place along the street. Ironically we get told off at first, by and elderly woman rambling on about how she has been waiting for an hour. I look in front of me: Procession, behind me: a wall. Where exactly does she want us to go? We gather all our courage and cross the procession as it is standing still, to finally find a place on the over populated street. When the scent of incense reaches us, we know he is getting closer; Jesus is about to make his entrance. The heightened platform just barely fits the narrow street, to the point where older men on both sides of us, spectators, push it to help the carriers reach equilibrium. Looking up at the impressive spectacle of a platform passing, who is looking down at us if not the man himself? Jesus. We look at each other. He will fall, the screws will come loose and he will drop on our heads, and that will be the end of us; death by Jesus and the end of this marvel of a thing we call life. Despite all of this we are laughing. True, that fear often calls for laughter, but also, what other way to welcome something new than with a smile?

Towards the end of the week someone asks me: Have you taken this week to reflect on your sins? My sins? I keep thinking. In today’s terms a lot of things considered pleasure can be regarded as sin. So, am I a sinner? Or am I not enough of a sinner?

Although conclusions are still ripening, this is what I’ve learnt so far: Approach religiosity (and probably life in general) with a smiling caution and curiosity. And, be as big a sinner as you like. Because whether you die by Jesus or any other, in the end the only one who needs to forgive you is yourself. (And I can only speak for myself, but I’d rather forgive myself for a step mistaken, than a wish unfulfilled).

Andra advent

Glad andra advent! Det här är så nära adventsljustake jag kommer i år. Detta är en dag man önskar man kunde komma hem på visit, dricka en kopp glögg och prata en stund med familjen. Men idag blir det plugg för allt vad jag äger och har. Jul-kramar från mig trots allt.

Back in business

I am back in business! Finally! After more than two weeks of agonizing wait I finally got my new card AND I got an exam-date before Christmas. Hallelujah!

Now… I’m not going to go into detail on my irritation with the Spanish mail or the fact that you seem to have to sit with the foot up people’s behind to get results and clear responses.

This means I can finally get to buying Christmas-presents and it also means I have to study. A LOT! So I am literally back in business in every sense of the word. I’m fishing for the London-discipline again. It’s coming back, I feel it.

X-mas love

I have love for chritsmas....but a love that makes it feel like christmas everyday. And I love christmas...

More More Drama

So… as if having your bank account extinct is not enough drama for one week, now one of my subject teachers has decided to step it up a little. Because my life is not already stressful enough (!!!). After having repeatedly asked if it is possible to take the exam in December (missing out on three to four classes), she now finally got to thinking of the matter and decided it MIGHT be a problem.

What do I say? I say it’s great! It’s absolutely fabulous that I already have my plane ticket to go back to Sweden, and it’s amazing that I won’t be able to sit the exam in February in any case. Why? I will already be in London. Now this bugs me… since it possibly deprives me of my financial support from the Swedish government, which would again make me broke. Oh Happy day!

Please do cross your fingers (or in Swedish hold your thumbs) for it to all go my way.

Some one is probably trying to teach me to value what I have, to understand the worth of money. I have shed a few hundred tears of anger and frustration… I promise. I understand it now.

Broke(n) reflections

I have been robbed. Every single penny I own has been stolen (apart from the 17 something euro I still have in my wallet, which I am now guarding with my life).

Being broke is not exactly a pleasant surprise, especially not tightly followed by the discovery of having much more money than expected… now I have none. Quite annoying to say the least. But more than the fact of not having money or the fact that I now (from Spain) have to try to arrange new cards, police reports etc., more than that, it is the intrusion that bothers me. Some broke into my account and emptied it out. And it wasn’t done at once either. By the looks of it someone used up my money and made sure to thoroughly enjoy it. Bloomingdale’s, Staples and Apple Store all in Cedar Oaks, USA…where in the f*** is Cedar Oaks!? What kind of lazy, greedy people live there!?

Ok, Sorry, no need to be mean… or rude for that matter (to be truthful a lot of pretty heavy curses have come out of my mouth this evening, none of which will be repeated here). I just can’t seem to get over it. How a person is so lazy that they have the nerve to “bling” their lives up with other people’s money, which they have earned fair and square. They get luxury (I know this because when you spend more than 1000 USD in an Apple Store it must be good) and I get problems. Thank you very much!

I don’t understand…where have morals gone? How does a person manage to justify an intrusion into someone else’s privacy? And not only an intrusion, but a complete abuse? How can you even enjoy your Mac-Book when you bought it with stolen money? I hope it breaks, I sincerely do, what ever they bought I hope it is infected by the mere fact that they acted immorally, I hope they look at it and feel regret. And no, I’m not evil, just very angry. And no, I’m not stupid either…if you are advanced enough to rip someone’s card-details off from across the Atlantic you probably don’t know the meaning of the word respect nor the essence of the feeling; guilt.

Anger gives you energy from all kinds of unexpected sources. Thus I shall get back to baking my bread. Because I’d rather do positive things with my energy, that are good (and even taste good) for others and me as well. Rather contribute than exploit…that’s what I say.

I love it, I love it not

Today I chose my courses for next year. It was exciting, because it was all lined up, right there in front of me; my future. The outlines of my year to come; international business to the height, length and breadth of 2009, my last year. And it was sad. Why? Because it reminded me of the fact that this dreamy state of love, bliss and relaxation will soon come to an end. Soon…but not too soon?

There is no denying; London is progress, London is challenge, ambition and responsibility, and I miss it. I miss the pace, I miss the goals and I miss the adrenaline of deadlines and the gratification of achievement. I thrive on it, yet I know it kills me. That’s why I love it. Today I walked through Cádiz, Coldplay playing in my ears, a steady rapid rhythm and I walked quickly not to be late. It made me remember the feeling of being on your way, seeing ahead and knowing where you’re going. It’s empowering. I love it.

And then, I realised; what about all these quiet moments, what about time to cook, time to watch a movie or to simply take a nap on a Wednesday afternoon? What about the spontaneous coffees and the large, long dinners with friends? What about going out three nights a week and then having the time to sleep in? What about all these things that make life worthwhile? Where do they squeeze in between MGT305 and ECO301? I love it not. I truly don’t.

I’m ambivalent…I want it all. It’s unfair. It seems that for many of us, at this point in life, it’s either or: Love/Life or Studies/Career. I don’t want to choose and I don’t have to, I chose already. My next year is all career, all books, highlighters and sleepless nights, all studies and stimulus. I have to learn, to take with me some elements of human contact, interaction with affectionate value into that deep ocean of work which is ahead. And I love it I really do yet I love it not…I truly don’t.

Cadiz: A Killer (?)

Here I am; a shadow of my old self. Yes. Those of you who know me as an overly organised, always on top of things, always on the move, kind of person, might actually go into cardiac arrest when looking at my current state. And this is no joke…

Vanja and I have made countless efforts to revitalize it; the pumping rhythm of the city, that chain of goals and objectives succeeding one another, even that frustrating feeling of never having enough time (even though your plan is close to immaculate). Shock-a-shock we’ve actually been looking for this state of mind… even slightly missing it.

I know. In a few months from now I will be eating my words up. I will be calling home in tears saying: “I can’t take it, I just need one full night of sleep…and another 12 hours to the day”. Time will, again, be in short supply.

But it’s dead, the stress, and Cádiz has ‘killed’ it. It took us a while to wrap our heads around it, even longer to join in and another good while to actually understand it; the Cádiz effect.
At first we were thrilled about the stress-less atmosphere, and accordingly we took our time to slow down and kick back in the sand. That was the time when we could still fish for London in our blood, and we didn’t have to look that deep. Now days we are searching, and are yet to be lucky. Instead we keep finding one example after another of how a city can seemingly swallow your ambition, simply by ridding the purpose for its existence. You don’t need to dream big here, it’s the small that counts. You don’t need to be quick here, because rest dominates.

And it doesn’t seem to bother a soul that students retake, and retake and retake courses in all eternity, some day, he will become a doctor, or an engineer or an economist. Life is too short to waste on obsessive studying is what Cádiz seems to be saying, just live a little and a little bit more…and the rest will be ok in due time. It makes a good point, this city, to all of us hyped up ciudadanos (city-people). About not forgetting to stop and see, not neglecting to listen and enjoy.

Yet we miss the city because it gives us purpose, it stimulates us and challenges us to evolve… Cádiz poses another challenge, that of how to enjoy while keeping alive your ambition. But as sure as Cádiz is a killer…we can revive London again.

Enough is enough is enough

Last semester I was suffering from the unlikely noise-level of my neighbours. Singing, screaming...and even talking could all be heard through theese thin walls. Not to mention the persistant woman frequently standing outside on the patio (creates QUITE the echo might be mentioned) screamig for some Marta at 8am. Then there was of course the moving of furniture at 2am in the appartment above or the heavy fying of food past midnight.

This year I'm in luck! (sense the irony). What was previously my neighbours are now my flatmates. Halleluja! And I would gladly ask my neighbours to move their furniture more often if I could just have some peace and quiet after 2am. Sing-alongs to Rihanna are not exactly on my list of favourite things, especially not if they wake me up or prevent me from sleeping.... And then I should probably not even get started on the level of cleanlyness in the kitchen. Que horror! (as you would put it here).

So I am really just waiting for the day where, as you would say in Swedish; my cup runneth over and I will actually bring my self to say it: Enough is enough! Clean up! And sh*t up!

Do I realistically see that happening?...Most probably not. A more diplomatic solution would probably suit me better. But I'm leaving it for mañana.

When it rains it pours

Here in Cádiz things are as they should be, and still not. The normal state of stressless-ness is of course blissfully present, there is time for everything. There is even time to do nothing (which is quite amazing). Thus I'm really trying to take advantage of this fact, as my future seems quite bleak on that aspect.
Plenty of good company, parties, dinners and time to rest... everything a person needs to prepare for a hectic last year at EBS.

Soaking up the sun is also energizing. Here we are far from winter-jackets. Still, we are traumatised by autumn trespassing into the late summer heat. Not only has it rained, it has rained so heavily that underground-parkings have been flooded, even stores on the street. Some of my dear friends even suffered in-house floodings when water came up their drain and into the shower. And it's not like the kind, eternal, London-rain. In Cádiz, when it rains it pours... it's the kind of rain that will wake you up and keep you awake.

In light of this, I can do nothing else but express my gratitude to the brilliant concept of Siesta...at times frustrating (yes, because the world really does stop during siesta), but sometimes it might just save your day.

Excuse me, forgive myself

Apologies and excuses are a funny thing. They come in all shapes and forms; sincere, rude, sudden and even long-overdue.

There are those ‘little’ excuses that you politely (or reflexively) blurt out when you bump into someone on the street, or while trying to make way through a crowded room. The pardon me’s that are pure politeness.

Then there are those excuses that come from deep inside, from knowing that someone has been hurt by you; your words or your actions. Where you are not looking to justify your deed but rather rid yourself of that ounce of guilt which only ‘I’m sorry’ can accomplish.

And then finally there are those excuses that are more related to your own regrets than anything else. Like that party that you didn’t go to and you know no one holds a grudge against you for it. Nevertheless you need to apologise; if nothing else, then to get the external confirmation that it’s fine; nothing's won, nothing's lost. Where you say you are sorry, but what you really are trying to do is to forgive yourself.

October, October the summer is over...?

It took a me a while, but now I actually realised; summer is not over quite yet. After Sweden where it was already full on jacket, scarf and gloves, a few days were needed for reality to sink in. Although the gaditanos (inhabitants of Cádiz) have apparently already retired from the beach for the season, it is still summer by my measures, which means jackets need to come off and bikinis on.

And although my new flatmates have turned out to be a group of young (and then I mean young AND green on living 'alone'), loud and smoking spaniards, I'm now going to do my best not to let it get to me. After all I have the privilege of a few more weeks of soaking in the sun and swiming in the Atlantic, and that's not all that bad.

An apple(cake) a day keeps the doctor away

After a summer busy to the point of rupture I have arrived in Spain and unsurprisingly come down with a cold. Thanks to bad weather and a relaxed schedule I'm spending the day in, curing myself with the good things life has to offer...like chocolate and applecake. Because hey, as you say; when life gives you sour apples make apple cake. And then it might just be that there is truth to the saying that an apple(cake?) a day keeps the doctor away. Let's hope so.

A taste of Spain

Really there is only wine, olives and a mullet missing...

There is always mañana

Spain always means learning new behaviours. Especially for a timewise scandinavian like myself there are many lazy lessons to be learned.

Lazy lesson no. one is: There is always tomorrow...or there is always another one tomorrow.

In hectic northern Europe you often get the sentiment people try to do as much as possible in as little time as possible. In Cádiz you quickly learn, what you don't do today you can do tomorrow, or next week, why hurry?

Jose, a spanish aquaintance put it very nicely; he said: "I don't understand why people make such a fuss when I don't come to a party one night, when they know there is another one tomorrow". As our conversation continued into the early morning hours and we established that I had been to class earlier the same day, he burst out into modest applause for the fact that I was still on my feet at 3.30 am. Whereby I answer: "But I had a siesta" (and the applause were inevitabely 'withdrawn').

So what I learned from this was: Don't stress! If you don't go to a fiesta today you can always go tomorrow (you will be missed, but you won't miss anything if what you really want is to stay at home). And if you DO want to go to a fiesta, there is always siesta. Time is on your side here, today and...mañana.

Persistence is the medicine

Yet again I am taking on the constant battle against spanish procrastination. It´s endearing how many people can attempt helping and actually not succeed; not due to ill-will but rather a lazy ignorance(?).

Yesterday I spent one and a half hour calling my phone-company in order to get my line up and running again. This was after being told at their store that: "No you can´t buy a modem separately, they come as a package deal with the line". Accordingly this was my second mission, getting a new modem. After making SIX calls to SIX different people, someone finally opened up my file properly and told me what to do. And here I was, thinking: "They must think I am such an idiot to keep calling". Apparently persistence is the best medicine against procrastination (even though it can prove to be exhausting).

Finally the phone-line is now back (wow!). However I am still crossing my fingers for a quck arrival of my modem, hopefully it won´t take another six phonecalls...