"It's been awesome. It's been wild. It's been awful. It's been great."

That was the quote from Erik this morning as he summed up how we would describe this trip when we get home. He was laughing as I let my frustrations fly, just having returned from the morning bike-ride to school (he was up until 4 am for the second night in a row, so he slept in and I took them by myself. Most days he comes too).

Amy: "I am SO DONE with this!!! I am done biking over cobblestone streets with cars and motorcycles flying by, not watching - yesterday a motorcycle came THIS CLOSE to crashing into Lucy right in front of me as we rode across a CROSSWALK with a GREEN LIGHT. Daily I have to scream "STOP!!!!" at the top of my lungs so my children don't get hit. And "Careful!!!" of the dog messes (I was pretty ticked off so I actually said "dog crap" but I know my dad reads my blog so I edited) and the cigarette butts and trash. I am tired of being freezing cold in our unheated house and lighting my stove with a match - ok no, actually I still really love lighting our stove with a match - but my brain is tired of always speaking Spanish and the grumpy people and the dead rabbits and birds hanging in the market. I want to go home."

Erik: Wordless, doubled-over laughter.

We wondered together if we would be feeling this way at this point in the trip because 3.5 months is a hump you have to get over, or if it's that when you're on the last couple of miles of a run, you know you're on the home stretch and you get antsy to be done whether it's 5 miles or 25. I don't know! But after I got it all out (and laughed at myself too) I immediately got planning so that we can fit in all the churches and mosques and synagogues and Roman ruins and museums we haven't seen yet. We leave Spain three weeks from today, and there is still a TON to see, even just in Seville!! I am still discovering gems every day, one of the most beautiful of which was this morning:

I remember learning in my Jewish Civilization class in Jerusalem about the Jewish Diaspora when they left Israel - one big group migrated to Germany and Russia and became known as Ashkenazi Jews, and one who migrated to Spain and Portugal and became Sephardi Jews. I had always been very interested in Jewish Civ (part of the reason I chose to do my Semester Abroad in Jerusalem), and I was fascinated to learn about the groups living in long-term exile from their holy land in different parts of Europe. One part of their History that I remember very vividly was learning how  Jews had lived in Spain since the Roman era, and under tolerant Muslim rule in 700 AD they became very affluent and respected members of society, especially in Seville. I remember our professor Rabbi Rosen speaking with such pain about the Medieval massacres and expulsion of the Jews of Seville - it was one of the cruelest anti-Semitic acts in all of Jewish history, and of all the thousands of things I learned in all my classes as a 19-year-old, that image of synagogues being burned to the ground and thousands of innocent people being massacred or at best, driven out of their homes in Spain never left me.

Ever since we arrived in Spain I have been looking for synagogue ruins, and I thought for sure that since our kids go to school in Seville's old Jewish Quarter I would find some sign of their life there. But their destruction was so complete, the only thing that remains are the actual streets, and probably some unseen foundation stones under churches where Catholic chapels were built on top of the demolished synagogues. So... after reading a ton about Spanish history and living here for 3.5 months, biking and walking through the Jewish Quarter multiple times every single day, I discovered a short paragraph in a guide book identifying the site of the main Seville synagogue - it's the plaza we walk/bike through on our way to school. It was burned to the ground in 1366 and a chapel was built on top, and then when the famous painter Murillo died in the 1600's he was buried there, so his fame eclipsed the Jewish history of the spot. Later in the 1800's Napoleon's army burned down the church, and now no one knows exactly where Murillo's bones lay. All that is there now is a small garden with a wrought iron cage-shaped monument inside where cats like to hide (so Stone likes it a lot), and the French consulate is there, which reminds one of Napoleon's part in the history of the place. Anyway, I got chills when I read the information last night, and this morning after I dropped the kids off at school I took a moment on my bike to pause and reflect on the people who lived and died there. I shed a few tears. And then went home and told Erik all about how I can't stand parts of being here but then cried again as I told him all about how I found the synagogue and I was so grateful to be here having these moments that tie me to all Humanity. I love this place and will be so sad to go home in three weeks.

Last night I took Lindsay and Sophie out for paella, Arab tile shopping, and to buy me (yes, Me!) a Flamenco dress. It's brown with white polka dots and was on a super crazy awesome sale.

And we finally found Rayas Gelato! 

The churches look dreamy and candy-like all lit up .

That is one skinny sidewalk. A car mirror clipped our friends' little boy Isaac one time (he was ok, thank goodness). The car/bike/motorcycle/pedestrian mashup really stresses me out.

This is the site of the synagogue we pass several times each day, without knowing its significance until this morning.

This is the view from the other side, where you can see the flag of the French Consulate, and the title of the square, so proudly and un-Jewishly named "Plaza de Santa Cruz", or "Plaza of the Holy Cross." The suffering caused by that misguidedness saddens me so much. The house of the painter Murillo is visible from this square as well (and he's buried somewhere underfoot).

Today after siesta I wanted to start checking more churches off my list, and Sophie was the only one I could convince to come with me. This was a tiny chapel inside a local hospital - it was was chock full of Murillo and Velasquez originals. You could spend a year seeing and reading stuff every day in this city and not mine out all the gems. 

My buddy and I at the hospital. Wow, I am looking older. I don't mind - I am proud of the experiences and great big facial expressions that created those wrinkles - but it's just so weird! 

A lovely little plaza so close to the school, and yet we'd never seen it before! The oranges are starting to get ripe - they're so pretty on the trees. Seville oranges taste terrible but they're planted all over because their blossoms are the most fragrant.

And this is what we came home to after our Hospital Art outing. Oh, how I love my boys!