So much sangría! We (I?) were picking the apple chunks out of the bottom of the tub by the end of the evening.
Americans! The three birthday girls (Emily 2 with the pink butterfly headband, Ellie with the purple one, and me with the one-winged blue butterfly [it had become a full-contact party a few hours in]) plus Megan and Latané.
This past weekend, after shutting myself in my apartment all week to work on fellowship applications, I headed off to Granada along with a bunch of other language assistants to celebrate my birthday. I hitched a ride with Julia, a fellow teacher who spends her weekends in Granada, and we hurdled our way along the tiny roads that curve through the rocky mountains surrounding Periana, over the line that divides the province of Málaga from that of Granada, past crumbling farmsteads with herds of goats chomping listlessly at overgrown grass, and through tiny villages before hitting the main highway that leads into Granada. Though I wouldn't have guessed it from her less-than-imposing stature, Julia's approach to driving is of the aggressive, kill the road before the road kills you, sort. I tried my best not to look in front of me as trees and houses flung themselves toward my face, concentrating instead on holding up my end of the conversation. In the end, we arrived in central Granada in about one-fifth of the time it would have taken me to take the bus, and for about 20 Euros less.
Shortly after I arrived and had met up with Gondi and Anne, my German host, we were joined by Emily 2, Liz, Katharina, Miguel, and various other Germans. Taking advantage of the warm weather and clear skies, we watched the sun set over the city from Plaza San Nicolás, which has an incredible view of the Alhambra looking out over Granada. About one hundred people had gathered in the little square, and daylight ebbed they cracked open beers, played guitars, bought and sold homemade jewelery, and snapped pictures. My group, prepared as always, celebrated the colorful sky with clementines, magdalena muffins, beer, and tinto de verano.
Later that night, I found myself in a bar near Anne's apartment being sung "Happy Birthday" in Spanish and English by random bar-goers, including one guy who was similarly celebrating his birthday. Free tapas and free serenading makes for a good city.
My actual birthday started with a somewhat-recognizable version of french toast we made using tupperware and lots of cinnamon, and then led to wandering, tapas-ing, 2-Euro coffee-and-Bailey's-ing, skirt-buying, dinner-making, and then party-prepping. In my time away from the apartment that day, party decorations, a hand-drawn birthday sign, and a bottle of Bailey's had all Dinner was tasty and hummus-accompanied, and followed by a steady stream of people, some I knew and some I didn't, entering the apartment. Before too long, there were party-goers donning plastic bags (not me), flamenco outbursts, coffee and Bailey's pick-me-ups being passed around, balloons being popped, and no more hummus. At some point, someone gave me earrings and someone else gave me a Portuguese dictionary (this has become quite fortuitous). Around 3a.m., I couldn't fight it anymore and headed to my inflatable mattress while others partied on. They later told me they'd been up until 4:30, at which point some had decided to go out. I felt old.
After some intense cleaning Sunday morning-ish, we headed back to Vélez on the bus, making it back in time for a deluge that has only stopped for a few hours at a time in the four days since. Rain-soaked Vélez was a welcome sight, though, because much of the 3-hour ride had been spent listening to shrill, old Spaniards arguing heatedly about the price of garbanzo beans. I still don't quite understand why.
