Not an update about Spain

CAUTION: This is the dumpiest brain dump that ever brain dumped. You've been warned.

Since we last spoke, I had a lovely trip to Madrid, basked in the glorious monotony of another week, and visited my favorite city in Spain yet: Granada. I’m actually writing this on the bus back to Alicante (Sunday, February 20).

Madrid was fabulous! It was big and bustling. We did the Prado Museum, a Royal Palace Tour, a walk through Retiro park, a glance through a cathedral of which I am forgetting the name, shopped around the Rastro flea market, and of course, indulged in lots of good food from patatas bravas to vegan donuts to savory crepes and white chocolate dipped palmiers.

A group of friends and I were supposed to see The Lumineers in Madrid last Sunday night (with Gregory Alan Isakov as the opening act!!!), but unfortunately it was postponed due to COVID. But as broke college kids simply trying to see as much of Europe as possible, we did not pay the whatever it was for the flight protection to be able to change or get a refund, and we were planning on visiting Madrid at some point anyway. We also were not able to get a refund for the tickets, so if you happen to know anyone who might be interested in seeing The Lumineers on Monday, March 7 in Madrid, please let me know. I’ve got 3 tickets, and I’m willing to negotiate!

What this also means was that since the concert was supposed to be on a Sunday night, we booked a returning flight for the crack of dawn on Monday morning to make it back in time for our classes, so my wakeup call Monday morning was 4:20am. Ouch. Thankfully the Madrid airport has these wonderfully convenient coffee vending machines, serving me a hot cappuccino for less than 2 euros, saving me from my grumpy, sleep and caffeine-deprived pit of despair.

By the time it was all said and done and back in Alicante, I was 20 minutes late for class, and I was hardly perceiving the world properly because I had, in fact, gotten less than 3 hours of sleep. Needless to say, Spanish was really hard for me that day. We do what we can.

That same day, I came home to a lovely little bouquet of flowers on my bed. Convinced they were a sweet Valentine’s Day gift from my cutie roommate, Charlie, I smiled and proceeded to take off my shoes and lay in bed for the rest of night because I simply could not do it that day. During that time, I called my partner, Griffin, to catch up and did not even mention the flowers.

When I finally felt able to socialize with my roommates after a multi-hour hibernation period, I made a cheeky comment about the flowers and thanked the ambiguous person who left them there, making direct eye contact with Charlie. She noted that she’d tell the flower fairy I thanked them, and after a prolonged moment of confusion for all of us, she inquired,

“Cate, you know who those are from, right?”

*Silence*

“Griffin got them for you, silly!!”

Ohhh. Right. I’m used to the pity Venmo from my mom on Valentine’s Day, so this is still new territory. But also, how sweet of Griffin to organize getting flowers to me from over 4,000 miles away! Mega heart sparkle!

For those of you on here who are not aware/just so we are all on the same page, Griffin is my partner/boyfriend/whatever you want to call it. He's the best!

On that note, I would not be telling you the whole story if I did not mention that the hardest part of being here has been being apart from the most special person to me. Not getting to experience all these new sights and sounds and tastes with the person I want to share everything with doesn't feel right. I’m homesick for the feeling of just being close enough to hug him. But, I’ll be back before I know it, and it will be OK. In the meantime, if you see Griff, please give him a great, big hug for me.

Much to everyone’s surprise, I have finished yet another book since the last time we spoke. Again, my selection is very limited here because I did not have room to pack books, and, as it should be, the English literature selection at bookstores here is very slim. Why don’t you read a book in Spanish, you ask?! Well, queen, I wish I could. I really wish I could.

OK truthfully, it’s that for me, reading is a pastime I engage in for pleasure and relaxation and not to spend 12 minutes trying to make sure I’m correctly deciphering the meaning of a singular page. And I’m reading plenty of Spanish literature for class, so that front is well covered.

Anywho, I picked up a book called True Tales of American Life from a used bookstore in Alicante in the first week or two of being here. As a part of an NPR project, listeners could submit miscellaneous stories about their everyday lives which were divided into the chapters of this book based on themed categories such as Love, Death, Dreams, Meditations, etc. It was too easy to get sucked in, telling myself only one more story, and 12 stories later I realized it was 8pm and I hadn’t started my homework.

Alas, it’s always so refreshing to read the words and experiences of everyday people. History lessons and news articles can make me feel numb and jaded to the happenings of the world and individual experiences of human beings, but reading about the love and loss and whimsy and wonder of the common man through their unique lens awakens me to both the singularity and sameness of our human experiences. And what a comfort that is, that our lives are not entirely unique. We share more than we think, and I think that helps us; it sets us free.

Which reminds me—I’ve been thinking a lot about freedom lately. I wish I could count the number of conversations in my philosophy classes we’ve had about the nature and limits of freedom, but math has never been my forte. Oddly enough, various ideas about freedom and (mostly) liberation have been showing up in my life for the past couple weeks, and I am just so darn curious.

In an Introduction to Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence (which I just started reading!!) by Cynthia Griffin Wolff, she notes,

In the end, Wharton’s experiences during World War I affirmed a powerful but paradoxical truth. There must always be a balance between “renunciation” and “satisfaction”: personal happiness depends upon the survival of the community; yet the survival of the community depends on the willingness of each individual to surrender some portion of his or her own personal gratification to the general good. Without this balance, both individual rights and civilized communal existence will be lost.

Thus while the young American novelists of the postwar generation danced into the hectic frenzy of the jazz age, with its “free” love and its endless, giddy quest for pleasure, Edith Wharton embraced maturity.

Prior to this excerpt, Edith Wharton is explained to have had an adoration for post-WWI France, detailed as the following,

She wondered how it had been possible for the people of this embattled country to survive, to be strong, to endure; and she concluded that it was because they had preserved their sense of “larger meanings”: “They have understood life to be made up of many things past and to come, of renunciation as well as satisfaction, of traditions as well as experiments, of dying as much as living.

France had triumphed over war because of its honesty, its realistic sense of values, and its devotion to a coherent set of a values… “The devotion, the self-denial seem instinctive; but they are really based on reasoned knowledge of the situation and on an unflinching estimate of values. All France knows today that ‘real life’ consists in the things that make it worth living.”

I know I just threw a lot at you, but I could not pick which excerpt I liked best, so I included it all!! I don’t really know how to translate this into normal people words, and I’m honestly not even sure if I can tell you what it all means, but I like the way it sounds, and when reading this last week, it felt like all my thoughts and wonderings about liberation sort of spat themselves out on a page. I also have so many other thoughts and feelings about all of this, so I am sure it is something I will come back to:) I'm still letting these words rinse through my mind...

I am not going to comment on the historical specifics of French post-war strategy and societal organization because, frankly, I just don’t know too much about it. But I do think there is something to be said about the idea of finding liberation within structure or tradition. Maybe it’s even less about the structural or traditional aspect and more about finding liberation in something outside of/bigger than yourself—viewing your experience as a part of something greater and this idea of an individual surrender for a collective triumph – “renunciation as well as satisfaction". Audre Lorde put it similarly when she said, “Without community, there is no liberation”. There is no such thing as one way liberation (idk who said that first but it wasn't me).

My ideas of old told me that liberation was the absence of all bonds, but I don’t think that’s quite right.

The brilliant writer Miguel de Unamuno, known for being the father of the Generación del 98, a group of Spanish writers that came about during the Spanish-American War, among other things, writes in his poem “De Vuelta a casa”,

Madre Vizcaya, voy desde tus brazos verdes, jugosos, a Castilla enjuta, donde fieles me aguardan los abrazos de costumbre, que el hombre no disfruta de libertad si no es preso en los lazos de amor, compañero de la ruta.

Or in English, for the rest of us:

Mother Vizcaya, I am going from your green, juicy arms to Castile, where the usual hugs await me, for man does not enjoy freedom if he is not a prisoner in the bonds of love, companion of the route.

That just feels so right to me. Man does not enjoy freedom if he is not held by love (for man does not enjoy / freedom if he is not a prisoner in the bonds / of love). For those of us who lay any claims to religious/spiritual faith, it feels a lot like God/Higher Power of choice

--we are held and free by something bigger than ourselves. And not only that, but now that we are in the grip of Love, we can keep extending invitations to the eternal table. I’ll scoot over if it means you’ve got a space next to me—renunciation and satisfaction. We are not in chains, but we are bound to one another, and we are united by Love. Liberation: I am held and free, and I am not alone.

Before I leave you, I guess I should also update you on my Granada trip.

I toured the Alhambra; I attended a flamenco show; I ate tapas galore; I saw panoramic views of the city from various different look-out spots; I ate Moroccan food; and I walked just about as much of the city as I possibly could have. I think I’ve found my favorite Spanish city!

Well, it seems I’ve talked more not about Spain than about Spain, but if you’re looking for pretty pictures, you’ll find them on my Instagram (@cate_tedford !!!).

I forewarned you—you never know what my brain is going to dump on here, but thanks for coming along for the ride.

Un abrazo y todo mi amor,

Cate

A girl in Madrid in Retiro Park in front of the Crystal Palace.

Girlies in Madrid, perched on lookout spot, overlooking the city.

I have so many more photos! Maybe I will do a whole separate email and actually tell you about each trip with photos? Idk. Stay tuned. Xoxo. <3C