Aquí estoy! (sorry!) I finally arrived yesterday at my homestay in Córdoba, Andalucía, in the south of Spain. We’ve been travelling around Andalucía as a program for the past two weeks, and while it’s been delightful, I am so happy to be settled enough in a place that I can start to acclimate myself and truly get to know it. My homestay, which I share with Leah, another Fellow, is very close to the river (and surrounding wildlife feline sanctuary!!), so this afternoon I walked down here to find a spot. I was delighted to find a glen of birches, one of my favorite trees! I’ve been lucky enough that so far, I’ve only lived in places with an abundance of either birches or aspens (though only California has my true favorite tree, the redwood).

I’m sitting against a birch now, feeling the smooth bark against my back and the damp grassy earth I sit on, smelling the damp mix of soil, the wool of my sweater, and the stench of the water. It doesn’t seem like anyone would swim here, it’s far too dirty. Interesting how humans made it undesirable to ourselves, so now it’s only for wildlife, in practice and in law! I can hear a huge gaggle of birds in the bushes of the island that splits the river right in front of me, they’re squabbling and chattering away. They sit squawking until, seemingly fed up with their conditions, they flap wildly only to land again only feet away. It looks like a game, or competition. They appear to be either egrets or white herons, but may be something else entirely. I couldn’t see the color of their legs (a differentiating factor between the two species) through the distance, bushes, and movement to catch more telling details. I’ve never seen so many together! At home, the birds these remind me of are only ever solo, standing still up to their bodies in the marshes. Amidst the true cacophony coming from the island, I also hear the sounds of sirens, music, screaming laughter, a pair of friends (?) sitting on the opposite bank, an occasional honk (of the car variety, standing out from the bird honks). I’ve never lived in a city (an actual city, not Wellesley!) with the preexisting natural features so thoroughly incorporated. The river is an integral part of the city, cutting right through and providing an interruption in its walkability, the perfect opportunity for early developers to build the bridge over that Córdoba is well known for.

The ducks just arrived, and are splashing madly! Fighting or playing, I’m not sure, but they’re chasing and sitting on each other. Both male, the female is nonchalantly swimming about three feet (one meter, even!) away from their BS. As I write this they’ve already clamed down and are now swimming quietly away from the island, tired or embarrassed or on an unspoken truce. The island seems to be (quite loudly) spoken for anyway. Earlier, a large white bird hopped up onto the bank in front of me. It was moving in and out of the bushes, hard to closely observe, but the orangey plume on top its head kept popping up and betraying its presence as it tried again and again to pick up a stick in its tiny yellow beak. After several unsuccessful attempts, it surrendered, but soon found a smaller stick, balanced itself, and flapped its wings, each the size of the entire rest of its body, and casually flapped to the bush on the island. I wish I’d gotten a better look, but I didn’t want to alert it of my presence and scare it off sooner. I caught that it was about the size of an owl, larger than a hawk but smaller than the stray cats wandering. I wonder if, like ducks and many other birds, this one’s plumage marks it as a male, needing a little somethin somethin extra to impress a possible mate. I was impressed nonetheless. I wonder how the stick he diligently collected from the shore plays into that as well! Was it for building? Showing off? Sport? Swordfighting? Perhaps a walking stick. I also wonder, if these are the same birds they remind me of from home in NorCal, why they seem to prefer the tree to standing in the water. Perhaps they know its gross, or its just more social in the tree. I did spy a few in the water, though they were separated by at least a hundred feet, sentinels silently standing guard.

At first, I was surprised to notice so many similarities in the nature here to the nature around the Bay Area. I soon realized, however, that latitudinally they’re on the same plane! It makes sense then that we both face consistently extreme droughts, and that they temperatures vary constantly. Spain feels drier, though, due to its southern neighbors. I feel lucky to have found this spot, surrounded by trees and water, as both are becoming more scarce here. Every other ‘river’ we’ve visited in Andalucia has been completely dried up. Even this one, Río Guadalquivir, barely washes over the foundation of the bridge anymore. Although clearly polluted and more developed on either side, I like to imagine someone sitting here many ages ago having a similar experience with the cacophony, smells, small bugs, and sun slowly setting. Maybe they heard laughter from the other side of the water too. Soon, this place may be as familiar to me as it once was to them, or perhaps, there is a Cordobés person somewhere in Northern California right now, wondering who else has experienced that special place in the same form.