OVERSEAS BRIEFING

Author: Mckenzie Hale

SEGOVIA, SPAIN - At 7 a.m. my alarm went off - time to head to Salamanca. I generally use my weekends here in Spain for jetting to various locations within this vividly diverse country. My friend and I rushed to the bus station, me nauseously hobbling in his wake as a result of his quick-paced walk and the unfortunate mixture of vodka, whiskey, wine and beer lingering in my stomach from the Spanish "dinner" I'd attended the night before. We caught the bus and I slept during the ride there.

Salamanca is incredible. Like Segovia, my temporary home, it's a medieval city, but it's much more lively, crowded, and dramatic. Among the first things we did was visit the city's cathedral. I haven't words to give it its due, but perhaps the most impressive aspect was the sheer size of the mammoth building - unbelievably tall yet filled with intricate sculpture and painting and stained glass even hundreds of feet above my head, where close examination was impossible. I expressed my desire to go up and see the works far above, and he posed an interesting idea back - that the inability to do so is part of the majesty of the Cathedral, that so much effort goes into what remains virtually unseen, just for the sake of artistry and the Catholic fervor of Spain. It's the difference between expensive and priceless.

At the famous University, we encountered the strangest thus far of our Spanish experiences. The central cloister-like courtyard was surrounded by only locked doors on Saturdays, but upon impulse I tried one and it opened. We continued into pitch-blackness, and some distance through the void, above our heads, an artistic projection of stars and constellations became visible. We mysteriously found ourselves walking uphill towards the image. Spooky, ethereal mood music played, and this odd seeming projection, we realized, rather was painted upon a curved ceiling and illuminated by an eerie blue light with an inexplicable origin. Upon leaving, we noticed that strange lines of light had silently appeared on the floor, bright yellow…but rather than illuminating anything, everything else remained plunged in blackness. Somewhat ill-at-ease, we hustled out back into our own dimension and on to more typical tourist attractions.

That evening I dragged us to an Irish pub we'd discovered, where the England/Scotland rugby game was playing on projector screens. I drank Guinness and yelled at the players and refs along with the rest of the crowded pub, feeling a little less homesick. I don't deny that I do miss Midd-especially rugby-during my time in Spain. But Spain makes my life so richly unpredictable; for example, the closing of snowy roads that resulted in an epic journey via bus, metro, train, and foot to reach home was a story worthy of at least a made-for-television movie.

Now I'm back huddled by the radiator in my room, cursing whatever sadistic person it was that told me that Spain was hot, as the blizzard continues to fall outside my window. Spain mystifies and amazes me both.