THOUGHTS FROM TARRAGONA

We've been in Spanish-speaking countries for two months now and we're all becoming quite accustomed to the Latin rhythms, the smooth and sonorous sounds of Spanish. For example, Gloria's report of her experience in Primary at church this morning: "I didn't know what they were saying, but I could still sort of understand them." That's pretty much the way it's been. As the (sadly) most proficient Spanish speaker of our group, I can understand about half of what I hear, and about three-fourths of what I read. I can negotiate transactions and understand most instructions, but I am always aware that I don't get it all, and I am always wondering what I'm missing and hoping it's not important. It's at once comforting to know I can get around and frustrating to know I can't really carry on a decent conversation. So I feel isolated within the confines of my limited knowledge of the language, and yet, I also feel a real part of my great extended human family.

One of the greatest benefits of world travel is experiencing the humanity of the whole human race, no matter the language or cultural context. We are in Tarragona, Spain now, a beach town an hour south of Barcelona. It's dotted with Roman ruins 2,000 years old. and sprinkled with medieval buildings half that old. Europe has always fascinated me that way. We can be eating in a modern cafe, looking at medieval architecture and Roman ruins all on the same street. There's nothing like it in the United States -- this sense of human history all around. Europe feels so old, and somehow, I feel connected to all these people that have come before us. I don't think it's because I have European roots, because the same feeling hits me in Asia. I think it's simply that it makes me feel more human, a part of some great saga, full of pathos and glory.

Last night, the girls and I wandered downtown and joined in the fun of a local Children's Festival. We got purple balloons and ate bread and chocolate and threw confetti all over each other. Gloria made friends with some local girls and ran up and down the Rambla, while Grace and I sat on the curb listening to the band and watching the little one and two-year-old Spanish kids try to figure out what sort of silliness their people were engaged in now. We had a ball.

Tomorrow we fly to Marrakech for six days. New culture, new language, new experiences.