alhambra pics

Woo hoo!

my bad ass friend, Washington Irving

"I made it!"

moi!

me inside the door - at the door - inside the door

Puerta de Justicia

MORE PHOTOS CO COME OF THE GENERALIFE, but i gotta download them first!

alhambra

ahhh, yes, my traveling friends, The Alhambra...

say it. you´ll love to keep saying it.

Alhambra.
according to my aboutspain.com newsletter...

Damian Corrigan writes:
The Moorish fortress, palace and gardens of the Alhambra in Granada have been named as the most popular tourist attraction of 2009, according to an article in El Pais: The Alhambra is the Most Visited (in Spanish). It beat the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona into second place. Third was the Prado, the most famous museum in Madrid.

sweet. 2 checked off that list!

it´s a 10 fold crisp and delightful morning in granada.
after my cafe con leche and churros con chocolate in the Bib Rambla Plaza, i exit to my right.
hazy and chipper does the morning huff and vendors flush out into the side streets.
every body, every vessel, every postcard, every pashmina.
all motos, all rebajas, all gypsies, all securitas.

every fiber of everything yawns onto the streets.
i visualize steamed, cherry carpeting exiting out every salida.
welcome.
welcome in, and buenas!
the sun with her fingertips, oh my,
i spy with my little eye
everything that is golden...

my audioguia for today is none other than, Washington Irving.
that bad ass!
lived in The Alhambra, a writer, a storyteller...a secret keeper of sacred grounds.
(look him up if you are interested, please!)
he, Irving, tells me to "delight yourself" in the surroundings of my choosing.
so, i do.

i wade in the Generalife for hours.
much attention is to water and the preciousness of it, so even when i must
return to the entrance, a 10 minute fast trot, at the gate, to release my bladder,
i quickly return to the site i left lazily dreaming, and continue, in my"delighting."

The Generalife, "laid out like a Persian carpet in a grey olive grove," Washington croons
in my ear, as i slip into soft saturation in this climate condition of too much decadent air,
too much water,
too much movement,
too much breathe from the Jardin de los Cipreses o de la Sultana y el Escalera del Agua.
it´s all too much, Washington, that i can only say i will be back again tomorrow
to collect more of whatever it is you wish to feed into me.
i will gladly succumb.

an earthy, namaste.

spring in winter

hundreds of blush roses, amarillo y nata
scruff cardigan navy and silver crowned ancient gentlemen
who step gently in 3
left
right
cane.
long cubes of water.
dusty pools settled for the winter.
and all seems a bit shy in the january sol
except for the wrinkled distinguished...
father-in-laws to tight-faces of tan boys who confiscated their daughters.
"jefe" in good humor but the generations between them are
as long as liquid,
as delicate as dust is history.

and between men,
between a sprint and a stroll,
the parque in silencio tender with blossom bound tight to unfold. . .
and this winter is warm for those with no cold memories.

as this sol beats like green should be hearalded soon,

i ate the spring today.

plucked each velvet pansy petal

each sol soaked leaf of palm,

and drank the wind lust clean

open gulp after open gulp without knowledge of when i may drink again.

*written in the Parque Federico Garcia Lorca, granada
january 18, 2010 Gina Cornejo

overload

damn...
i have a lot of tickets to purchase.

i am counting about 6 at the moment...
that´s a whole sh*t load of planes and trains.
no automobiles. people drive just as horrific here, as on LSD.

the drug and the Drive.

namaste, your flight is now boarding...

the why

i remember when money was the dollar and euros were souvenirs
when coffee was black with half and half and splenda on the go
yeah, and when sugar was sugar, where equal was blue
and a roll of Tums was at any stop n´shop,
not a special trip to the farmacia
neon green and red light expanding hallucination of a
70´s christmas christian cruz,
so fetching, you think you always have an ailment, a reason,
a why to entrada.
so, how come i can´t find my sick voice for prayer in
cryptic holy catedrals with high flung arches by dust and bone architects
who created the silk of heavens
from slabs of white marble in the name of god
of queen
of money
of allah
of arabic scripture
i gotta remember to download my digital pictures
and post them on the web
to show all my friends
to show myself
to remember the reason, if there is still one,
of why i am here.

because i remember my love so close to me as my own breath in.

and breathing at half capacity is an ailment for sure.

my reason shifted when my money took new code
when a Jackson was a twenty,
and the King was still alive.
so i keep in motion i sleep in horseshoes and i wake in a new stable
every bold, red, and yellow morning to be able to know the why.

the why.
i had to go, i had to go now, i had to go then, so as to be here again, now.

i have since abandoned my why my explanation my intentions,
however reasonable and irrational, however happy happenstance-able
however i wrapped myself up and delivered me HERE---i no longer know.

but i do know that time is movement.
one flag of one country quickly folded into one language of one region and onto the next.
i am traveling for traveling´s sake.
the why remains chameleon clear.
the why exhales from my luggage lungs.
the why borrows my tweezers.
Why sips from my cafe, but is decent enough to pay my bus fare.
Why underlines hostels that have potential in Amsterdam, as i investigate train tickets to Paris.
oh, why...
paul gaugin knows where my why hides:
"i shut my eyes in order to see"

it´s all so chameleon clear.

namaste, seekers.

*written january 17, 2010, granada
Gina Cornejo

mercado de san miguel

fotos fotos y mas fotos!
a bit outside of the Puerta Del Sol in Madrid, is a spectacular place called
Mercado de San Miguel,
and i fell in quick love.
it´s bustling like Marshal Field´s on Valentine´s Day at lunch hour.
the frutas tempt you through the floor to ceiling glass exterior,
the champagne tower bubbles, the cheese is chunked off fresh from the rind,
the seafood writhes and drips healthy water,
while the flowers to be bought are pungent and winking...life is alive here!
taste is in motion!
stomachs were never so happy and ears never so delighted!
I love this place and went back often during my Madrid strolls.
buying grand cherries, and think slivers of salmon...
i didn´t indulge in the champagne, although if i did,
i wouldn´t have bought by the glass, but by the bottle.

this is one of my favorite places for sure.
namaste, food lovers!

you in the office, baby

"you in the office, baby!"

*TRAINING DAY, Detective Alonzo Harris played by Denzel Washington

as most of you know, i run. i like to run, it´s super cheap, it give the notion of progress,
i have slick New Balance 769 lightweight running shoes, and i have thoughts upon thoughts to keep my mind nourished as i put on foot in front of the other...for hours.

if an astronomically, critically, crippling event occurs in my life, that will be the day i commit to a marathon...and i could pull it off sans warm-up stretch, sans bagel breakfast, in my grandpa´s stout Johnny Cash jeans. it´s easy...my thoughts are fuel. i am jet pack. i am steam.

so, during my 2 hour run today, pink Sierra Nevada mountains yawning to meet me at every hilltop, i remembered this:

"Damn, Gina...you don´t have a job."

not the most optimistic or majestic thought to accompany the van gogh backdrop, but sh*t,
i was right.
i was right...right-left-right-left-right-
sh*t.
the Andalusian sunshine and woodsmoke from cold chimneys
make my stride widen, my teeth grit,
so, as i progress up left-right-left i realize right-
and remember this:

"You in the office, baby!"

sh*t, i forgot!
THIS, this, this, here, is my office, i´ve been clocked in since december 28, 2009, baby!
i have planning in far off planners, and cold calling, and researching maps, i lace up my shoes with a double knot, i carry my passport, i order my cafe con churros, i trek around town, i read the plaques that say the names that list the birth, the death, i revel, i reel, i dream, i question, i question my curiosity, i read, i question what i am doing in this position, i accept myself daily, and i reject myself daily, i breathe into the future restless and lost, i surprise myself by who i can be, who i could be, not just here, but there, for my friends my family myself, i e-mail, i facebook-it, i take the trash out, i feed the little one, i shower, i get out of bed and some days that´s the most courageous thing you can do, and i do it.
i am clocked in, m*tha f*ckas.

and the future will take care all its own.
with me without me, it´ll widen the stride to swallow me in it´s yawn.
and, that´s fine with me...it´s gotta be fine with me.

so, i begin as Detective Alonzo Harris.
f*ckin pumped, cock of the walk, the here and now, baby!

and, at my end, i am Forrest Gump.
at the end of his running days, he simply turns around to go home.
jet pack at a low hum, and out of fuel. a complicated satisfied.

but, until then...i´m on the clock, baby.

namaste.