February come and gone...

Well it’s been a little slow on the Blogging front, sorry. Study abroad has been a lot of study lately. Biggest of all was a 45 min presentation about representations of the myth of Achilles in art, in Spanish of course. I’ll try to catch up.

A few weeks ago I traveled the furthest from Barcelona that I have been since coming to Spain over five months ago. Madrid! Every semester the whole study abroad program goes on a trip, and so all fifty students jumped on an early morning train on Friday and left for a weekend in Madrid. I didn’t really know what to expect from Madrid apart from what I had read in Rick Steve’s Spain guide, which wasn’t much. Overall, I was really impressed with Madrid, and I had a great time. On Friday we spent some time walking around the city, checking out the palace, the plazas, and the other major sites. The evening was the highlight of the day though. First we went to a Mexican restaurant where, compared to the US, we paid twice as much for half the food. In Spain though, Mexican food is a novelty and middle eastern food is the cheap food. We wandered around Madrid for a while, enjoying the lively atmosphere of the late night, until we finally arrived at a salsa club for rumba night. Now, I’m not much of a salsa dancer and have no clue what rumba is, but I’m pretty damn good at making a fool of myself. Luckily in our group was Michelle, whose Latin-American heritage meant she knew every song playing and the proper dances to go with them. After getting rumba 101, I began with the fool making. By the end of the night I got a thumbs up from a Cuban guy, but I’m not sure if it was a “thanks for making the rest of us look good” thumbs up or a “awesome, you almost look like a beginner” thumbs up. Either way, it was a fun night. Saturday we went to Toledo for the day, where we essentially went on a three religions tour. We saw one Jewish temple that was an Islamic mosque for a while, one enormous cathedral, and another small church housing an incredible Greco painting. Sunday we were back in Madrid. Despite a night at the lively El Tigre bar, and some bar hopping in the gay neighborhood, I was ready early the next morning to do some art touring. I made sure to take full advantage of the free espresso in the breakfast lounge, probably putting the hotel out of business. We were off to the museum, and I was off to the Guernica. Wandering for a few minutes through a few Picassos and the war propaganda section, I attempted to make it look like I was there for something other than the Guernica. I gave up and bee-lined for it. It is stunning.

 the palace

 attempting artistic photography

 curved walls to support the weight of the adjacent plaza

 Toledo.

 another attempt at artistry. 

 Gazing at the Guernica

 The Guernica

Plaza-ing

On the climbing front I’ve been climbing a bunch at Margalef. In general I’ve been getting crushed, which can be hard to deal with but I can easily rationalize. At the moment, after going through a full six weeks of climbing outside and the going through three weeks of low-intensity, high-volume base training I have absolutely no power, but I can hang on for a while and my technique has never been better. Basically this has meant that I have been onsighting 12b like crazy, but have been getting shut down on most 12c’s and every 12d. 12b usually presents moves that are just below my power threshold, but if I push it to the threshold or a little higher then I’m off. There was one route a couple weeks ago that crushed me more than the rest, an incredible 12d on the Balcó de l’hermita in Margalef. Despite knowing that I should be logging a lot of 5.11 climbs as part of the base building period, I keep pushing myself onto harder stuff. I have never onsighted a 12d before, but for some reason I convinced myself that it was time to change that. While tying in I studied the series of small pockets that sparsely dotted the first fifteen feet. A quick knot check and belay check and I was off. Two finger pockets -just reaching the first joint on the fingers- were linked by long and precise stabs. The moves were difficult, but I did them perfectly, and with a little teeth gritting I found myself past the powerful start. A short shake out and I kept going, linking move after move of small pocket pulling. I clipped the last bolt, a few far pockets the only obstacles to my first 12d onsight, but a familiar cramping was working into my forearms. I was pumped. Fall now or fall later has become the negative phrase that has taken me to the top of my best climbs, and now it starts to creep into my head automatically when I start getting tired. Fall later, I thought, and threw for the next pocket, and the next, and the next. Hitting a large three finger pocket next to anchor told me the climb was over, my first 12d onsight, but that’s when tragedy struck. I reached to clip the anchor with my left hand, but the carabiner was stuck. After fumbling for several seconds I grabbed the anchor, my belayer thought I had clipped in took up some slack, and I was soon flying off the rock. And that was it, no 12d onsight. I hung in silence, crushed, knowing that I could have done nothing differently, but still being empty handed. It’s silly because I can easily justify onsighting the climb, but for some reason I can’t justify it for myself. Climbing is funny that way, it’s our personal standards that really matter. The climb haunted me for a while, but I think in the long run it was good for me. Instead of going home, eating a kebab and drinking beer, I ate a salad and planned my week’s training. Despite feeling crushed, the fact that I can almost onsight 12d when I’m not in best form is a good sign. Also, as much as I enjoy hitting a new grade, I climb because I like the challenge and having to fight my hardest. I had to dig deep to keep going. I’ll always remember the intensity of the last few moves, and the emotion of slowly falling away from the anchors. Cataluña has no shortage of 12d’s, so I’ll keep trying, and trying, until it happens.

Over the last several months I have been thinking about some possibilities for the future. I came here with the intention of experiencing Spain, becoming a stronger climber, and returning to US with future aspirations unchanged. However, the realization has recently sunk in that Spain will not be a one-year program, and that I will be back, perhaps for many more years. Being 22 means that many friends are facing college graduation with the threat of “real life” looming in the near future. Despite having another year in Boulder before my own graduation, after college options have been on my mind lately. I have been seriously considering the possibility of coming back to Spain for a masters or doctorate program, and at the moment the prospect of spending several more years out here is very exciting.

"I'm looking into graduate school out here," I told my friend Jan, the owner of Rockbusters who turned his Spain roadtrip into a career, over a beer recently.

"Pshhhh, you'll be back." He said. I'm not sure whether he was so certain of my ability to get into graduate school or my complete addiction to Spanish limestone. 

At the same time it is daunting to be taking steps toward a more definite future, but I suppose sooner or later every young adult faces the same challenge. Being called a “young adult” used to bug me. I think I wanted to be considered a real adult, and I must have secretly hoped that being called a grown man would help my chances of growing a real beard. Now, looking at my fuzzy stubble I think I can say young adult is probably the appropriate term. After all neither an adolescent nor a real adult would have a web browser with open tabs to “Political Science Postgraduate Programs” and “DOUBLE RAINBOW SONG!”

I'm off on a 3 day adventure to Alquezar this weekend. Somewhere new and exciting.