Grace embodied

Last time I posted, I was feeling rather glum about la vida cotidiana - daily life - in Spain. As the week passed, I made myself get out, invest in my work and in friendships, tell people around me that I was lonely, etc.

Thursday night, I went out with my friends Patri and Stefan (sp?) and met some of their friends. I had my first glass of Jerez sherry. Strangely, though "Jerez" means "sherry" you cannot order a glass of "Jerez" in a bar. I suppose it makes sense. It would be a bit confusing, like going to Jack Stack and ordering a Kansas City. "A Kansas City what?" they might respond.

Saturday some of my NW friends were going to come for a visit. It didn't work out, I hope they can come next weekend *hint, hint*. It ended up being okay though because Faby went to Seville so I spent the morning taking a bath (an event itself in Spain, where the hot water is not plentiful) and generally moping around feeling quite crummy. I had some kind of head cold that alternated between stuffy nose and the complete opposite.

Saturday afternoon, I went to the beach with my friend Mario. I met him my second night in Jerez when I met my friend Patri. (Good thing I stayed out so late!) The closest beach to Jerez, Valdelagrana, has a 10 kilometer bike path through a wooded area. Personally, I cannot imagine a better way to spend a Saturday: biking on a bike path and ending up at the beach. Nope, I just tried to imagine a better day and I can't. :)

Well, the day turned into a bit of an adventure. We took the train from Jerez, no problem. Unfortunately we got off at a stop that was not where we thought it was. In fact, there was nothing there but highway. What a predicament! We then proceeded to bike along the highway for a few kilometers to get back to the actual town. It was one of those "I'm sure glad my mother has no idea what I'm doing right now" moments. (hehe. hey mom!) Once we got there, we passed the bike park because Mario wanted to see where the train station should have been according to the internet. Once we found it, my bike got a rueda pinchada. Mario, being ever so prepared, whipped out a tire patching kit and a bike pump. It failed.

Lo and behold! What store was directly across the parking lot from the train station? It wasDecathlon, the Spanish equivalent of a Dick's Sporting Goods. We walked my poor little biciacross the parking lot, locked them up (and I learned there's no common word in Spanish for "bike rack". Seems silly), and purchased a new inner tube. Then Mario changed the tire (an immense effort in itself) and we decided to forgo the bike path in favor of the beach. While there, we built an immense castillo, decorated it with shells, swam, and played fake tennis. I was grateful that my little bike decided to wait to get a hole in the tire until AFTER we had gotten off the highway.

Below: Mario with our castillo, me with castilo, and poor little bici getting repaired.

After returning to Jerez, I took the long way home through the city center and enjoyed some chestnuts roasted over open fire. Once home, I ate, changed, and went back out to hang out with Patri and friends. Turns out, they're friends with Mario and his friends so it was like a great big party.

I love spending time with these people. I have to admit, I hate when someone in the group starts smoking and I will probably start being more vocal about that. What struck me last night on my 3am bike ride home was that I have had very few friendships that fully embody grace the way these friends do. Let me elaborate. I like hanging out with them, but I generally feel a little bit... not useful. My friends have to hold up the conversation at this point because it's hard for me to think of things to discuss and even harder for me to tell stories about things that happened in the past. I cannot banter wittily. I'm not so good at making jokes or small talk. I fully enjoy their company, and it delights me that they seem to enjoy mine, no matter how much I do or don't bring to the table (or bar). Few times has the grace of God been incarnated so distinctly for me.

I can say something like "I've been homesick this week. It sucks." My friends nod understandingly, tell me it's completely normal, then use that as a springboard to tell me about when they lived in France they missed this about Spain, or came home crying everyday the first week. Then later they tell me that I have "fallen well with them" (Spanish expression for "I like you. You're cool."

Let me assure you, American friends, I miss you. But it feels good to finally be finding a place in Spain.