South Pop

We departed Sevilla yesterday afternoon, 5 friends of less than a week, Isla Cristina-bound. Our 46€ tickets got us two nights at South Pop music festival, transportation to and from the venue, and camping-- quite a deal for a weekend trip in Spain.  After we settled into our campsite (which consists of a High School Musical blanket, a sleeping bag, and a backpack with all our belongings), we made our way to the festival grounds: one stage in a small, cement arena-- a perfect setting for an intimate concert series.

And that it was. We watched an Irish alternative rock group Delorentos as the festival-goers were still arriving. We took a break for dinner down the street, where one of our friend's host-brother ordered a series of tapas. It seemed we had every type of seafood under the sea: shrimp, swordfish, octipus, squid, tuna. Spain loves its pescados, and being right on the beach they were fresh and delicious. We came back for Herman Dune, a French duo with a folk sound and some serious guitar and vocal moments. Their songs were on the slower side and quite moving. It is an interesting feeling, being in a country of which I'm learning the language, understanding the lyrics amongst a crowd of people who may not (All the artists we saw performed in English, and probably knew less Spanish than we do). We are inevitably having completely different experiences and sharing the same space, creating a singular vibe.

That experience was even stronger during the last show of the night, for which we decided to stand front-row. Best decision yet. WhoMadeWho from Copenhagen put on an incredible performance, and we danced our hearts out. The whole stadium was on their feet, clearly feeling as alive as we were. One of my first observations in Europe was the translation of emotion when language becomes obsolete. There are so many ways we can communicate with one another, creating and sharing the same feelings, inspired by the same art. Dancing to the same beat: it sounds like such a cliche. But don't they all, the little wonders of life?

Like watching the sunrise. I did that this morning. (As comfortable as I was on our blanket, cold and using my backpack as a pillow, camping has its way of making me ready for the day.) The sun was bright orange-red coming up from behind the hills. I looked at it for a long time, straight at it, as it was just cloudy enough not to blind me. I don't know the last time I thought about the sun for minutes at a time; it really is beautiful.

I'm having my cafe con leche, waiting for my friends to wake up (get up), and listening to a morning show in Spanish that's playing inside the cafe. The morning air is fresh, a nice break from the dense heat that peaks in the evening. Today will be a day at the beach and some exploration of Isla Cristina until the festival begins again tonight. The birds here have a distinct tune, and the sound of waves crashing lies beneath all the comotion of a day. We are always surrounded by Spanish, whether we can understand it or not; but we are also immersed in the sounds that everyone feels despite their native tongue. I think it's those universal experiences that remind me we are all connected.

Still waiting... I'm at the beaching watching a father and kids set sail from the shore. The waves are crashing in front of me, making a sound that never, ever gets old, only better with time. The only hint of division between the sky and the sea is the collection of speckles on the water from the sun. The sky gets bluer and the air is getting warmer as this family prepares their takeoff. It is a timely process that I imagine will be well worth the procedure; in fact I assume the reward in part comes from completing each step patiently and proudly. This must be so, as the children are helping when they can and calmly waiting for their departure. I've gone sailing before, with my dad and sister. I loved being out at sea, feeling the wind and seeing one color for miles around.

Turn, push, jump in. And they're off. At peace.