Feria de Abril

I recently read in an article on the way home from Tenerife that made me proud to live in Sevilla. The article discussed how many European countries have stereotypes, but that they don't usually live up to them - Londoners don't always drink tea every day at 5 p.m., Parisians don't all wear berets. However, the stereotype of Spain - flamenco dancers, paella, and bullfighting - is clearly evident in Sevilla, which the article referred to as "the ambassador of the Spanish image."

The reason that I had the opportunity to travel this past week was because of our days off of school to celebrate la Feria de Abril. The event in English means "April Fair". Feria is an incredible display of the Spanish culture, and is known nation-wide as the party of the year. Spain's culture is exemplified as women dress up in incredible flamenco dresses, men put on their nicest suits, and everyone parties for what seems like 24 hours a day, 7 days of the week (my roommate came home one night at 5 in the morning, to which my host mom responded, in all seriousness, "you got home so early!"). Sevilla is the crown spot for Feria. Although other cities have celebrations similar to Sevilla's sometime in the summer, Sevilla's is known as the "madre de Feria", meaning that it is the original and greatest feria celebration in all of Spain.

You enter in the fairgrounds through the incredible front gate, known in Spanish as the parador (shown at the top of the post). It is original to the fair every year, and takes nearly 11 months to make. The massive fairgrounds are split within two sections: one half is your traditional fairground. There are probably around 100 rides, games, and even merry-go-rounds with live ponies! There are also food stands where you can buy churros, waffles topped with whipped cream or ice cream (aka gofres), and buñuelos, which are basically just fried balls of goodness.

Churros on the bottom, and buñuelos on the top.

Spain style merry-go-round.

The second half of the fairground is full of casetas, or well-decorated covered tents. Every caseta is decorated intricately, and every one is unique. Some of them have chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, others have hand-painted murals on the walls. Most of the casetas are private and family-owned, passed down from generation to generation. Others are public, but are not quite as elegant. Each caseta has its own unique personality, but it seems as though nearly every single one had a stage for flamenco and live music alongside of it.

Everyone drinks rebujuito, which is a mixture of manzanilla wine and 7-up. Rumor has it that they mix it with 7-up because it is refreshing during the hot days, and manzanilla by itself is a little too much to handle... People eat, drink, dance, and be merry all throughout the week. No one works. No one sleeps. Everyone gets their Spain on.

The week of festivities quite literally ended with a bang, as Feria was capped off with a 4th of July-esque fireworks show on the river that could compete with some of the best in America.

Although I feel as though I have become pretty accustomed to the city and culture, Feria was one of the first times in a while that I felt like a true outsider and tourist. I was in absolute amazement of the dresses, casetas, and most of all, the parador.

I believe that Sevilla is truly the ambassador of the Spanish culture. Experiencing Feria de Abril this past week solidified that belief.

(Insert funny last line here).

Brad.

B-Side of the Day

Sea of clouds on the top of Mount Teide.

Brad.

Climbing Mount Teide

Mount Teide is located in the center of the island of Tenerife in Tenerife National Park. It's the tallest point in Spain, an active volcano, and the main reason that my friend Brad and I recently took a trip to the Canary Islands. I got the idea to climb to the top of Teide after I saw this video for the first time:

When Brad agreed and shared in the excitement of hiking to the top, we booked our tickets and were on our way.

Day 1

To say that we were unprepared for the hike is a decently generous statement. Neither of us came to study abroad expecting to hike the tallest mountain in Spain, so instead of having good hiking shoes and camping bags we brought our tennis shoes and book bags. We bought 7 euro worth of food and water the morning of the trip - some granola bars, bread, chorizo, apples, and corn nuts - surely enough to ration us for a day and a half. I had briefly read a few accounts of people who had hiked the trail before, classifying it as "highly difficult"and warning us against the danger of altitude sickness, as there was little to no emergency aid in the park. Being the ignorant American college students that we are, we figured we could do anything with ease - that the high difficult status was only meant to scare off the 50-somethings with their dogs wanting a nice afternoon stroll through the park - and for a while, that seemed the case.

The beginning of the hike was very easy. We took a bus through some of the windy mountain roads and arrived at the base of the trail around 10:00 in the morning. Although we were high above the clouds and the altitude and sun were having their way with us, the trail was wide, decently flat, and giving us incredible views. We were rationing out the 2 liters of water that we both had brought, enjoying each other's company and taking plenty of stops along the way to rest. It was almost a bittersweet let-down, like we weren't even going to be challenged at all, like all of those warnings about the trail being difficult were just flukes and that we weren't going to even really hike at all. Then came the real hiking part.

Being an active volcano (that hasn't erupted since 1909, don't worry), the remnants of lava were everywhere. We finally approached what looked like the legitimate hiking trail. Brad described it as the part of the hike "where the rubber met the road", and there were rocks galore to maneuver and strategically move about. The steep grade combined with the increasing altitude and loose rocks made for a real challenge, something that we had hoped to both encounter and avoid the whole day.

We finally approached the place where we would stay for the night - a refuge made specifically for people hiking to the top of the mountain. It wasn't anything special: space for 65 people to sleep, restrooms, and a kitchen. For conservation reasons, you normally have to obtain a permit to hike to the top of the mountain, but since we were staying at the refuge we could go up to the top without one. I'm confident that Brad and I were the only people at the refuge that spoke native English, and maybe two of 7 or 8 that spoke any Spanish, so our conversations for the night were limited.

A few views from our refuge before the sunset.

Shadow of the peak on the clouds.

I went to bed around 9:00 that night to the sounds of rhythmic snoring and the deep breaths of people accommodating themselves to the high Canary Island altitude. I knew that the morning would be unlike anything I'd ever done before.

Day 2

The first image that I saw as I awoke at 5 am was a French man crawling out of bed in his tighty whities. Woof. About 5 minutes later, Brad and I were on the trail heading up to the top of the mountain.

The view of the stars was incredible. Because we were so high above the clouds and light pollution was practically nonexistent, you could see each and every star with brilliant clarity. It was hard to look too long at the stars, though, as we had a trail to hike and inadequate tools to do it with. It seemed like everyone and their grandmothers had brought headlamps. Brad brought a freebie flashlight that didn't work, and all I had was my iPhone flashlight app. After hiking for about 20 minutes, we could already feel the altitude getting to us - headaches, dizziness, and shortness of breath woke me up quicker than the Frenchman showing me his croissants. We stopped for a rest, and saw a couple of people with headlamps coming up the trail behind us.

When the couple got closer, we asked if we could we could walk with them. We ended up going the rest of the way with them. Brad would trail from their lights and I continued to use my iPhone flashlight to give him light from the back. The trail seemed to get harder and harder, steeper and steeper. There were a couple of times when we got to places that we thought were the peak only to be sorely disappointed and realize that we had to continue to walk further. The sun was starting to give the sky a hint of color, and we finally saw the silhouette of what was undoubtedly the peak of Teide. The last leg of the trek was probably the most difficult on paper, but because of the realization that we were so close it seemed like a breeze.

As we approached the top, more evidence of the volcanic personality of Teide came out - we had to be careful that the rocks we touched weren't hotspots, and the sulfuric smell in the air made me think someone was hard boiling a few eggs to dye for Easter.

Both profusely sweating and freezing cold, we finally reached the top at 7:00 am, and at 7:15 the sun rose above the clouds to make one of the most beautiful paintings of planet earth that I had ever seen. There were moments when I would just sit there and take it all in, and moments where I would take what felt like a hundred pictures a minute. The view of the sky was so powerful, so glorious, that it made it completely obvious and undeniable that my God is the maker of the universe and completely sovereign over His creation in every way.

Shadow of the peak on the other side of the clouds.

Using a hot spot to warm our hands.

Hiking Brads.

We began our descent around 8:45, and made it to the bottom of the trail around 11:30. We felt accomplished, tired, and ready to eat. Two hitch hikes and a 25 euro bus ride later, and we were home.

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I absolutely loved my time hiking this mountain. It was a once in a lifetime experience for me, something I definitely didn't think I would do this semester, and one of my favorite memories so far.

Brad.

Trip to Tenerife

When I first started my blog back in January, I remember telling my mom one thing - "I just don't want it to be boring." Of course, in her original and sweet motherly way, my mom reassured me "of course it won't be boring." Luckily, this semester, I've had a lot of amazing experiences that are hard for even the most inexperienced bloggers like myself to seemingly increase the weight of your eyelids. This blog post may be the exception to the rule, so, unless you're like my mom and are just absolutely interested about all aspects of my life, this post may not be for you.

I've already mentioned it numerous times, but from last Friday until Wednesday, I was on a trip with my friend Brad in the Tenerife Islands. It was definitely the most overall relaxing trip I've taken so far so there weren't a million events and things going on to write about, but it still had its fair share of hilarious memories and lasting memories. I'm actually planning on writing a whole separate post for our hike up to Mount Teide, so I'm going to basically skip over those days for now. Anyway, a summary of the trip:

What we did:
Brad and I set out to go to the island of Tenerife, the largest of the Canary Islands located west of Africa, on Friday night. We spent the first couple of days maxin relaxin and looking all cool while getting sunburned at various beaches, climbed a mountain, and hung out by the ocean some more.

Watching the sunset from Puerto De La Cruz

Kite surfers on Playa de Médano.

Brad and I after hiking up to Montaña Roja, or Red Mountain.

Where we stayed:
The first three nights, we stayed at an awesome hostel called Los Amigos backpackers, where we got to meet and become friends with people from Italy, Germany, France, Spain, Mexico, and Finland! We stayed at the highest elevated sleeping quarters in Spain one night, and the next night we stayed in a (generously rated) 2-star hotel in the center of town.

How we got there:
With the exception of the whole "hiking a mountain" thing, the travel stories might be the coolest part of Brad and I's trip.

We underestimated/overestimated certain aspects of the island - we underestimated how huge the island was, and we overestimated how convenient public transport would be...

On the plane ride over there, we started talking to the college-aged student sitting next to us. She explained that she was originally from Venezuela but lived in Tenerife currently. Before the flight was over, she had volunteered her dad (who was picking her up) to give us a ride to our hostel! We had a little bit of trouble finding our hostel that was supposedly 10 minutes away from the airport (it took us about an hour to find) and Brad and I were constantly apologizing, to which her dad would reply "no no no, this is a religious experience for me!" We finally made it and were so grateful for the free ride.

Realizing that the bus near our hostel only came every 2 hours or so, we thought we'd give hitch hiking a try. The first attempt was way easier than we expected (probably because of our beautiful faces), and the very first car I "chucked the thumb up"to pulled over for us. The driver was a Chilean woman and the owner of a bar at the beach that we were headed to. Once we got to the beach and had our fun in the sun, we made our way over to her bar and had a drink with our new friend from Chile.

Hanging out at "Vetusta", the bar that the Chilean woman who gave us a ride owned.

We ended up hitch hiking two more times on the trip - once with a French couple that didn't speak a word of English and very little Spanish, and once with two older men from Belgium driving a rental mini van through the winding mountain roads like we were on the Grand Prix or something.

That's 4 different drivers from 4 different countries - Venezuela, Chile, France, and Belgium.

What we ate:
Brad and I went for the conservative/cheap route. In Spain, supermarkets sell fresh-made baguettes for ridiculously cheap prices, so Brad and I's main diet consisted of a few baguettes, some chorizo, cookies, and strawberry Fanta. Not the best food ever, but when you're paying 2 euro for a hearty meal, no one can complain.

What I'd recommend:
Like I said, we underestimated a lot of things about the island. Even though we had those awesome experiencing hitch hiking and adventuring, the times that we were forced to rely on public transportation were rough. To anyone traveling to the island, I would definitely recommend renting a car. You can get car rentals for as cheap as 65 euro per week, live stress-free, and be the person that picks up the new college-aged Americans blindly trying to get around the Canary Islands!

Why I'll never forget it:
Going on a trip with one other person (as long as they're awesome) is one of the most fun things you can do. The memories Brad and I made by getting in random people's cars, drinking Corona's by the beach, hiking up Mount Teide, and chilling with our bread and chorizo will be fun to look back on for sure.

That's all I've got.

Brad.

B-Side of the Day

Hiking to the top of Mount Teide to see the sunrise. Anything is possible.

The Dirty Tenerife

As I said in a previous blog post, I recently returned from the Canary Islands - Tenerife Island to be exact - and spent the last 6 days with my good friend Brad. We had some great adventures, a lot of Corona-esque relaxing times at the beach, and hiked Mount Teide, the tallest mountain in Spain. More on the rest later...

Like any man who goes on a trip with his guy friends - also known as a "bro-cation" - you know it's fun (and darn near necessary) to grow a little facial hair for the occasion...

Enter in my mustache, aka "The Dirty Tenerife". It's a solid mix of 6th grade Cory Thomason, freshman year Adam Morrison, and 3rd grade unibrow of Anthony Davis. I realize it's everything but beautiful, but after 7 razor-less days it's all I've got.

I have had a lot of facial hair role models in my day throughout my family, and I hope to one day achieve the ranks of facial hair masters like them. Here are just a few of the famed follicle fathers, brothers, and cousins that make me proud, and the facial hair that accompanies them.

The Facial Hair Hall of Fame

Dave Ellis, aka Grizzly Adams - My Dad's beard on his wedding day. Rumor has it he shaved literally 3 hours before this was taken.

My Uncle Ladell Thomason, aka The Hungry Hungry Caterpillar.

My brother-in-law, Marc Voth and his goatee, aka The Colt 45 - a smaller piece of weaponry that can still knock anyone to their knees if need be.

My uncle Marty Hunt with his 'stache Frank Sinatra - cool, smooth, and never going out of style.

My cousin, David Ellis, rocking the Appalachian Sensation.

My cousin, Joel Thomason with his famed mustache, The Duke. When I asked him why it was called that, he simply responded, "because it makes a little noise, Colorado."

And last but certainly not least, my brother-in law, Anthony Puryear, sporting his own version of famed fighter Kimbo Slice's beard that he affectionately refers to as Vanilla Slice.

"There are many feats a man can do in his life - ride a unicycle, speak in tongues to wild birds, spin the perfect pot, conquer the Blazin' Challenge at Buffalo Wild Wings - but a man who can grow facial hair: that, my dear friends, is a man who deserves the utmost respect." - Pope John Paul II

Fear the beard,

Brad.

Bullfight

Bullfighting is one of the prized traditions of the Spanish culture and is known world-wide. API gave us the opportunity to go with other students in our program and experience a bullfight this past Monday, in what ended up being a very memorable experience for me.

Sevilla's bullfighting ring, Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza, is where bullfighting began. Built in 1749, it's the oldest bullfighting ring in the world, and its atmosphere was second to none. We arrived for the 6:30pm bullfight around 6:20, and before we knew it a brass band was playing to us while all of the matadors came out and were introduced. It was a very traditional ceremony - unlike any American events, there were no microphones, no announcers, simply a band to play in between rounds and a trumpeter to signal when the next stage of fighting would commence.

For those of you who are as unfamiliar with bullfighting as I am, I'll give a brief summary. There are 6 rounds in each bullfight, with 3 matadors competing. Each matador gets 2 rounds to perform, and the matador who the crowd thinks is best at the end wins the prize (which we'll get to in a second). There are 4 stages to each round (or each bull). Warning - the process of a bullfight isn't for the weak at heart.

First, the bull comes out of the pen, angry and ready to run around. The matador and a few other assistants, called banderilleros, get the bull tired while the matador observes the movements and tendencies of the bull.

In between each section, a sound of trumpets signals the next stage by playing a short and simple tune for about 20 seconds.

Second, 2 horses with men and spears come out, and make the first blows to the bull, usually near the bull's neck. This causes massive blood loss in the bull and starts making it weaker.

Third, the 3 banderilleros tempt the bull with their capes again and then attempt to stick the bull with these sticks with sharp metal ends to them, which both angers the bull and causes fatigue to its body from the loss of even more blood.

Fourth, the matador shows what he is made of. With a run-down but angered bull in which he has had time to study its tendencies, the matador uses his techniques to have the bull follow his red cape around him. The longer the bull follows the cape, the better of a fighter the matador is considered to be, and the more excited the crowd gets. In the earlier stages, the crowd remains silent out of respect, but when the matador is up people start shouting "bien...biEN...BIEN!!"

Before you know it, the matador is ready to make the bull his ultimate victim by killing it. The matador takes his sword, lunges towards the bull, and tries to make a clean stab right behind the head. If he succeeds, the bull will quickly fall to its knees and someone will come out and use a dagger to remove it from its misery. If not, then the matador has to try again, losing him dear points.

In my particular fight, the crowd started waving white handkerchiefs and flags, which I later found out meant that they were petitioning for the last matador to be awarded a high honor. If they crowd waves white flags, it signifies that they want the president to give the matador an ear of the bull. The matador was awarded with two ears, which is a huge honor. After the fight was over, he circled the arena to a standing ovation and women throwing roses into the ring.

I really enjoyed my experience at the bullfight. Some people think that it's simply a bloodbath of torturing animals, but I chose to take the perspective that it's a Spanish tradition and art. I enjoyed the atmosphere of the music, the costumes of the matadors, and seeing something that is so popular around the world.

Brad.