Not just the pretty stuff.

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Being stationed in one spot for a long time opens your eyes and ears to all aspects of place. No longer do you see or hear just the pretty stuff. Rather, your eyes begin to see what you weren't able to visualize earlier and your ears key into the everyday sounds. Being in Granada, now for almost two weeks, has been great. Living in Kevin's backyard, cooking on a Coleman, and spending our evenings either at his bar or sitting in rocking chairs watching bootlegged movies, a tad odd. I wouldn't call it comfortable or uncomfortable but an adjustment in the works.

Many nights we end up walking home; through the dirty market street, past the sanitarily questionable food stalls, stepping over puddles/rivers of I don't want to know what, and although it isn't the pretty stuff, it is the reality of an impoverished place. My eyes aren't bothered as much anymore by the piles of feces in the streets or the sight of a bum's feet after years of no shoes. It is what it is.

What I have been noticing more these days are the sounds of place. And let me tell you, there is no shortage of noise in this city. Old cars with mega phones or huge speakers tied to the roof roll through the streets playing music, blaring adverts, and because I don't speak Spanish well or have learned to hear the noise but not actually listen, I don't really know the purpose of these vehicles. "Fre-co!, Fre-co," is frequently shouted with the rapid speed of an auctioner. Fresco, is simply a beverage. And man, do they try hard to get your attention with their loud, often high pitched, redundant call. Let's not forget the sound of horse hooves on pavement, old mufflers struggling through the streets, the chatter of people, whistling and cat calls for just about anyone and everything, the CD guys boom box blaring old Micheal Jackson tunes, etc. And at night drumming and clapping. The sound of street performers striving to make a cordoba.

These are the city sounds. And then Todd and I have been lucky enough to experience a whole other set of sounds every night. People don't seem to sleep here. And noise violations are the norm. Outside the nicely locked gate, there are squaters. Every night they sit on Kevin's stoop and play cards, drink, and I have no idea what else until all hours of the night. Young and old included, no age discrimination on this one. They shout, holler, laugh, talk, scream, or whistle to help us get in, you name it. Sometimes I want to join the party, but more often I am glad to be behind the locked gate. Beyond the friendly squaters, there are the dogs. To spade and neuter here cost money that people don't have. The numerous dogs are like squirrels back in the states, they are everywhere. And luckily for us they all just went into heat. Now that is a horrible sound; dog-on-dog. I will leave it at that, no one needs further details.

These are my observations of late. Tahe noise grows on you, but I seem to be amazed at how many sounds there really are. A new one every day.

On a side note, I would also like to mention a recent find of another kind. On one of our walks home, Todd and I decided a little cerveza was necessary. Well, all shops were closed except a tienda selling fried tortilla things. On a whim, we asked if they had beer. Yes they did! But, we didn't have a bottle for deposit so we were givin our beer in a bag.

Yes, we walked home and have since walked home with many a beer in a bag, laughing at the circumstances and geniune human creativity of it all. Beer in a bag as you can imagine looks like piss in a bag. The locals think we are odd gringos but I think we have earned some respect because of such tactics. Another side of getting to know the place you are in.