Me muero.

I have zero energy and don't know how to summarize what's going on right now.

I guess I'll start with Saturday night's Noche en Blanco. I doubt anyone has seen as many origional Picassos while drunk as I have. Hah. The entire city was out and all of the streets were clogged with people. It was the only time I took pictures, and I'm sure I'll have a few posted soon.

Oh, and I also got a cell phone on sat. It's cooler than the one I had in the states.

Sunday and today has been about finding a place to live. I have a decent offer for a place that's a little far from downtown in a VERY latino area (I'd be renting from a Peruvian and living with a Mexican). I've also been floating around with a couple of latinos (one mexican and another venezuelan) with whom I'll likely just rent an entire flat, as that seems to save some money and eliminate a few complications.

For lack of a better term, there is a latino "underbelly" in this city that you won't see if your a tourist checking out Sol. I imagine it is like African immigrants in France. That whole "revenge of the third world" thing, except there is less resistance here in Spain.

Oh, and before I forget, Dan is about to live with a Bolivian/Spanish family to the east of the Center. Just another example. :o)

I really wanted to pull ma hair out today. Daniel (not the above-mentioned Dan, but the Venezuelan I was talking about) and I spent most of the day in an locutorio (no word for it in english - an internet hangout place?) spamming and calling people who are renting flats. We finally found the perfect one for a low price, took the metro up to the neighborhood and entered the flat only to be told that a half hour ago, a group of students came in and took the place on the spot. The renter didn't bother to call us and tell us not to come or anything.

It was a great flat in a great neighborhood too. :o(

Again, there is something just not polite about a few of the things I've seen Spaniards do. Daniel noted this, and for a second I felt a connection between us "new worlders" and some distance from this old continent.

There are also charming moments too, like the realllly old spaniard that stood next to me in a bar today. He just had to keep talking to me, even though I thought it was apparent that I wasn't following. Most of what he said was just old man "gobble gobble el gobbeleando" sounding stuff, but the parts I caught were about some enthusiastic account of how fresh rural Spanish watter is in the mountains during winer. Some bucolic, quaint banter like that.

Still positive but just really freakin' tired at this point.

Arrival.

Woah. Madrid is gorgeous, as was to be expected. This actually doesn't feel like a big adjustment at all. A lot of what I've seen of the people, lifestyle, architecture, etc, is much like Buenos Aires, so I feel comfortable here already. There isn't much shock or anything as of now, but I find that "culture shock" comes later.

I still don't believe I'm LIVING here in europe and that this is going to last a year.

All I can say is, for now, the mix of red wine and tapas is working its magic. I should be willing to give a good account of how hectic the commute from Barjas to Madrid was (just take a taxi, for those who are thinking of carrying more than three bags), but I'm not so willing right now. Tired. Didn't take a single picture today. I'll hopefully do some tomorrow, as I buy a phone and explore Madrid's Noche en Blanco.

'Nuff for now!

The Title? The purpose?

Names are important, I believe. They should say something. I think The Sun Goeth Down says something. Here is why:

Ernest Hemingway published The Sun Also Rises in 1926. Hemingway, one of my favorite authors, is famous for covering the Spanish Civil War, the Cuban Revolution and the Fiestas de San Fermin. He was a life long expatriate who lived in both Latin America and Spain. Being an American expat and a member of the Great Generation, his work touched upon identity and finding a role for one's generation in history.

I've just committed myself to a year in Spain. Like Hemingway, I've lived in Latin America and found that after an extensive stay abroad, you'll find yourself forgetting your natal culture. A while away (no, spring break trips to Cancún don't count) makes you both reject and desperately miss that culture. I will stop speaking English, but I won't quite start speaking Spanish. I'll be exposed to Miró, Cervantes and Franco, but I'll filter them through Warhol, Hawthorne and Ashcroft. I'll be stuck in an interlanguage and an interculture. I can empathize with Hemingway.

The characters in The Sun Also Rises wander aimlessly within the inter-war period . I can't help but pretentiously state that in some smaller way, I share America's 21st century version of that sentiment. I don't always know where my country is heading, where history is taking my generation, or why it is taking us there. All I know is that Ernest found introspection in Spain and in travel.

The ambiguous end of that novel may be where I pick up.

This is about getting lost and enjoying it. This is about the sun going down. This is about seeing it hasten back to the place where it arose.