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The Ineffable Life
28 November 2011
03 May 2011
Bilbao Baggins and the Shire of España
Last weekend, I took a three day trip to Bilbao with my best friend in Madrid. In our eight months here in Spain, she and I have hung out countless times, going to lunch, dinner, ice cream, the movies, for walks. You name it, we have passed the time with it. But, during all of those adventures, we had never traveled together. When she realized that she had a coveted three-day weekend, a rarity for her because she does not have the same job as I, we decided to take advantage of the luxury and go on a little adventure.
Bilbao is a nice city of about 350,000 inhabitants. It is not a tiny one-horse town nor a sprawling metropolis, but a nice mix of fast paced with casual progression. Bilbao is known for a few things, two of which are not nightlife or excitement. Gastronomy is a big draw for the city, and many tourists come to the city simply to try its cuisine, something that proved to be pretty much out of our financial reach during our weekend visit. The Basque region, the region in which Bilbao is located and one of the most unique and unSpanish-like parts of Spain, is world renowned for its progressive culinary scene, drawing specific attention for its seafood offerings. Besides food, Bilbao is also known as the home of one of the best collections of modern art, housed in the Guggenheim Museum. Opened in 1997, the Guggenheim Bilbao is one of the most famous oddities of architecture in the past few decades. The exterior is likened to a mutilated tin can, and the inside follows the architectural flow of a human heart. Around a million visitors tour the museum each year, and in only 14 years, it has become one of the biggest draws in Europe for arts and culture.
To be honest, I didn't really "get" much of what is in the Guggenheim. I have never been an art aficionado, especially not when it comes to modern art, and while I did enjoy the museum and am glad that I was able to experience it, I did not walk away with my mouth open or my heart palpitating. My friend and I also visited a fine arts museum in Bilbao. I am not sure what classifies art as "fine," but the museum was nice enough, exhibiting some good old paintings and some nice newer stuff, as well. The featured temporary exhibit highlighting the works of Daniel Tamayo was good but weird. His paintings seemed to be like a series of incoherent LSD trips, strung together by the leftovers of his thoughts like a collage of confusing nightmares that were painted in his sleep.
While my friend and I were unable to really "eat" Bilbao like one should when he or she visits the gastronomical hot spot, we did take advantage of a new food culture, one that is different from our usual Madrid. In Madrid, when one orders a drink of any kind (water, beer, wine, coke, etc.), the waiter also provides a small plate of food. Sometimes this plate of food is just some peanuts or potato chips, and sometimes it is a plate full of croquetas, ensaladilla rusa, or jamon, all very traditional and very delicious Spanish tapas. This small plate of food comes with the drink that was previously ordered and is not charged to the customer's bill. In Bilbao, the system is a bit different. When my friend and I walked into the bars of Bilbao (FYI - every food establishment in Spain is a bar), we were surprised to see plates of food, mostly tostas topped with various goodies, covering the glass bar top. Even more surprising was that no one was being handed a tapa with his or her drink.
We ordered a drink at the first bar and sat down, expecting a pintxo to come with our drinks but not exactly sure what was going to happen (in northern Spain, tapas are referred to as pintxos). After a careful waiting and observation period, we figured out that the tostas on top of the bar were there for the taking. Anything that we wanted could be ours; we just had to grab it and eat it. The catch was that each one cost about 1.50€ and none of the tapas in Bilbao were free. My friend and I decided that this was a small price to pay, considering that the quality of the tapas was better than in Madrid and that we got to choose our every bite from a smorgasbord of Spanish goodness. Once we figured this out, we bounced from place to place trying the various foods and sipping on something wet. My friend being a vegetarian (a virtual shackling of the palate in terms of Spanish cuisine), I was left to be the adventurous one, eating the different concoctions of meat, cheese, and vegetables all nestled on top of a small piece of baguette. Bilbao's food scene (the poor man's food scene consisting of bar top delights not the wine and dine scene known around the world for its innovation and creativity) proved to be quite nice. I'm not intrigued by fancy, so our absence from the white clothed tables topped with tiny portions and large bills was fine by me.
Aside from eating and museum going, my friend and I did a lot of walking around the city, new and old, touring the streets of the growing metro center and the centuries-old "Siete Calles" known collectively as the Casco Viejo. We took a funicular to the top of a hill to get a panoramic view of the city, walked across beautiful pedestrian bridges spanning the Nervión River, got lost in the noticeably residential area of northern Bilbao, and saw two movies in Spanish as our nighttime activities.
One of the things that I most learned from my trip to Bilbao is how much I am going to miss my friend when I leave Madrid. If things pan out the way that I am hoping, I will be leaving here in about 2-3 months to restart my life in the States, and that means leaving (at least in the physical sense) my Spanish life behind. I have made several friends and will undoubtedly miss them all, but the friend with whom I shared my Bilbao experience will be the one whom I miss the most. She has become my best friend here and one of the best friends that I have ever had. Perhaps that is a strange development in the course of only eight months of knowing one another, but somehow that is how it has come to be. She is from England and I, America. She plans on going back to London at the end of this year, and I will probably be making my way across the pond to my homeland, as well. We met through mutual friends, and while in Madrid, we have spent an innumerable amount of time traipsing about the city, talking about our cultural differences, jabbering about Spanish life, and laying out our plans for the future. Most of our conversations consist of making fun of our respective accents or just making fun of each other, period. We spend a lot our time together trying to workout our existences here in Spain, often fighting with and dealing with the same quirks and idiosyncrasies that make life abroad both exciting and a constant challenge. We have connected in a way that seems to make little sense to even those with whom we are mutual friends, but somehow, it works. It makes me quite sad to think that in a few months we will not have readily available opportunities to spend time together anymore, but with effort, we will be able to keep in touch using the plethora of technologies that we all now have at our disposal. One of the highlights of my time here in Spain is having gotten to know her as well as I have, and I am glad that we got at least one chance to go off and explore a corner of Spain together.
Bilbao was a nice place for a weekend trip. In all honesty, it is not the most exciting place, and I would not recommend it as a top five "must see" in Spain, but its beautiful scenery and good food, along with the Guggenheim Museum, are reason enough to make the journey if given the chance. You can never go wrong with delicious food, impressive culture, and good company, and my weekend in Bilbao didn't lack any of these essentials.
Click here to see my pictures from Bilbao.
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| A sideview of the Guggenheim Museum |
To be honest, I didn't really "get" much of what is in the Guggenheim. I have never been an art aficionado, especially not when it comes to modern art, and while I did enjoy the museum and am glad that I was able to experience it, I did not walk away with my mouth open or my heart palpitating. My friend and I also visited a fine arts museum in Bilbao. I am not sure what classifies art as "fine," but the museum was nice enough, exhibiting some good old paintings and some nice newer stuff, as well. The featured temporary exhibit highlighting the works of Daniel Tamayo was good but weird. His paintings seemed to be like a series of incoherent LSD trips, strung together by the leftovers of his thoughts like a collage of confusing nightmares that were painted in his sleep.
While my friend and I were unable to really "eat" Bilbao like one should when he or she visits the gastronomical hot spot, we did take advantage of a new food culture, one that is different from our usual Madrid. In Madrid, when one orders a drink of any kind (water, beer, wine, coke, etc.), the waiter also provides a small plate of food. Sometimes this plate of food is just some peanuts or potato chips, and sometimes it is a plate full of croquetas, ensaladilla rusa, or jamon, all very traditional and very delicious Spanish tapas. This small plate of food comes with the drink that was previously ordered and is not charged to the customer's bill. In Bilbao, the system is a bit different. When my friend and I walked into the bars of Bilbao (FYI - every food establishment in Spain is a bar), we were surprised to see plates of food, mostly tostas topped with various goodies, covering the glass bar top. Even more surprising was that no one was being handed a tapa with his or her drink.
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| The pintxos selection at one of the bars that we visited |
Aside from eating and museum going, my friend and I did a lot of walking around the city, new and old, touring the streets of the growing metro center and the centuries-old "Siete Calles" known collectively as the Casco Viejo. We took a funicular to the top of a hill to get a panoramic view of the city, walked across beautiful pedestrian bridges spanning the Nervión River, got lost in the noticeably residential area of northern Bilbao, and saw two movies in Spanish as our nighttime activities.
One of the things that I most learned from my trip to Bilbao is how much I am going to miss my friend when I leave Madrid. If things pan out the way that I am hoping, I will be leaving here in about 2-3 months to restart my life in the States, and that means leaving (at least in the physical sense) my Spanish life behind. I have made several friends and will undoubtedly miss them all, but the friend with whom I shared my Bilbao experience will be the one whom I miss the most. She has become my best friend here and one of the best friends that I have ever had. Perhaps that is a strange development in the course of only eight months of knowing one another, but somehow that is how it has come to be. She is from England and I, America. She plans on going back to London at the end of this year, and I will probably be making my way across the pond to my homeland, as well. We met through mutual friends, and while in Madrid, we have spent an innumerable amount of time traipsing about the city, talking about our cultural differences, jabbering about Spanish life, and laying out our plans for the future. Most of our conversations consist of making fun of our respective accents or just making fun of each other, period. We spend a lot our time together trying to workout our existences here in Spain, often fighting with and dealing with the same quirks and idiosyncrasies that make life abroad both exciting and a constant challenge. We have connected in a way that seems to make little sense to even those with whom we are mutual friends, but somehow, it works. It makes me quite sad to think that in a few months we will not have readily available opportunities to spend time together anymore, but with effort, we will be able to keep in touch using the plethora of technologies that we all now have at our disposal. One of the highlights of my time here in Spain is having gotten to know her as well as I have, and I am glad that we got at least one chance to go off and explore a corner of Spain together.
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| A bird's eye view of Bilbao from atop a northeastern hill |
Bilbao was a nice place for a weekend trip. In all honesty, it is not the most exciting place, and I would not recommend it as a top five "must see" in Spain, but its beautiful scenery and good food, along with the Guggenheim Museum, are reason enough to make the journey if given the chance. You can never go wrong with delicious food, impressive culture, and good company, and my weekend in Bilbao didn't lack any of these essentials.
Click here to see my pictures from Bilbao.
27 April 2011
I Sailed to Africa and Got Bit by a Monkey
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| A scene from the Semana Santa procession in Málaga |
It was quite a blessing to have my friends come to visit me. These are guys with whom I spent almost every waking minute of two years fighting in the trenches on the south side of Chicago. We lesson planned together, laughed together, cried together, and tried to have a little fun in the process. When I decided to move to Madrid to pursue my dream of living abroad, I was forced to leave these friends behind, and keeping up with each other has been difficult. By some miracle (supplemented by the fact that they are all teachers at the same school), our spring breaks lined up, and they bought tickets to come visit Spain (and me) for the week. We spent our week traveling around Spain and visiting Morocco. Over the course of ten days, we spent time in Madrid, Málaga, Algeciras, Gibraltar, Tarifa, Tangier, and Segovia. Of course, Gibraltar and Tangier are in England and Morocco, respectively, but most of our travels took place on the Iberian Peninsula.
In Málaga, we watched the Semana Santa procession that wound through the streets for over seven hours. Of course, we did not watch the whole thing, but during our extensive walking tour of the city and its restaurant scene, we ran into the procession several times, often to our disappointment. From Málaga, we took a three hour bus to the border of Gibraltar and Spain, got off the bus, and walked across the border. After going through passport controls and getting our much coveted stamp, we made our way to the Rock of Gibraltar and began climbing our way to the top. The Rock is an absolutely breathtaking site. Once considered to be the end of the known world, this massive natural landmass looms over the Bay of Gibraltar and reminds everyone below of the power of nature and of the story that lurks in our history. The Rock has been a highly contested piece of land due to its naturally strategic location and has been fought over for centuries by Spain, England, Morocco, and various other contenders.
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| The Rock of Gibraltar |
After Gibraltar, we took a short bus to Algeciras, a Spanish port town about 30 minutes west of Gibraltar. With only one night in Algeciras, we did a short walking tour and made it to a restaurant to eat. After eating, we ran into another Semana Santa procession and watched for a while, interested to see how it might be different than the one in Málaga. It wasn't. The next day, we took a bus to Tarifa and boarded a boat to take us over to Africa. Once on the boat, I got a little nervous about my sea legs. I have been on boats countless times, but not in recent years. When we started sloshing around, I felt a little queasy, but that quickly subsided and I was able to enjoy the ride. It was a pretty surreal experience to ride on a boat from one continent to another. The Strait of Gibraltar is very small, and on a clear day, you can stand on the shore of one continent and see the shore of the other. Taking the boat across and being in the center of the water, able to look at both continents from an objective point of view, was a very unique experience.
Once we landed in Tangier, Morocco, we made our way to our hostel, doing our best to avoid all of the hustlers that were attempting to "help" us in the process. With little trouble, we found our place, and what a gem it was. This hostel, the Dar Jameel, is quite possibly the nicest place that I have ever stayed. It is absolutely gorgeous with a Moorish-style interior and unbelievable tiling and artwork. There is a rooftop terrace, a rooftop gazebo, multiple sitting rooms, and an incredibly nice and helpful staff. AND, each morning, we had a mind blowingly delicious home cooked breakfast that is included in the price of the hostel.
The food in Tangier was amazing. Lamb, seafood, couscous, and mixed salads among other things. With the exchange rate at 10 to 1, we were able to eat like kings and racked up seemingly astronomical bills, having only to pay a small amount when considered in euros or US dollars. Each day that we were there, we walked around the city exploring the streets and the shops. We toured the American Legation, the first piece of foreign land ever owned by the US (acquired during Washington's presidency). After the Legation, we headed to the former Sultan's palace and admired artifacts and artwork that tell the story and chronological history of Tangier and Morocco. At night, after spending the days out and about in Tangier, we would sit at the top of the roof, looking out over the city and recapping the day. Tangier is interesting because of the clash of cultures that exist there without actually clashing. There are western churches, eastern churches, and mosques that dot the city. Many women wear head scarves, some even wearing full body cover, while others wear jeans and a t-shirt. There is a city wide prayer call five times a day from the speakers of surrounding mosques, but even during the call there are those who do not acknowledge its presence. Tangier seems to be a very beautiful mix of generally thought to be arch enemy cultures. Each person follows his or her own path, respecting others through the process. Of course, Tangier is not a perfect society, as no society is perfect, but its ability to allow the peaceful mix of normally violently opposed cultures is something to be admired.
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| A Barbary Macaque that lives on The Rock |
Semana Santa was a great week, a week full of friends and new and exciting things. The above description of the week does it no justice, but I do hope that you get some sort of idea of what we experienced. If I were to type out everything that we saw and did, I would be typing for hours and you and I would both end up quite bored. Just suffice it to say that it was one of the greatest weeks of my life, a true adventure shared with real friends in a once in a lifetime kind of place. Perhaps one day I will muster up the patience to sit down and type out the entire euphoric ordeal, but for now, this excerpt from the annals of my brain will have to do.
Click here to see my pictures from Málaga.
Click here to see my pictures of Gibraltar.
Click here to see my pictures of Tangier.
03 April 2011
What I am doing in Spain...
A recent article in the New York Times explains the purpose and importance of what I am doing in Spain. No it does not mention me specifically, but it gives an overview of what is happening with the education system in Spain when it comes to foreign languages, especially English. The program that it mentions is spreading across the country and becoming a priority in Madrid is the program of which I am a part. Check it out...
In Troubled Spain, Boom Times for Foreign Languages
In Troubled Spain, Boom Times for Foreign Languages
24 March 2011
Ramblings
I have decided to write a bit about the things that have been going on in my life and in my head. I normally only write about major events or trips that I take, but I feel as though I am waiting too long in between posts. So, I intend to fill the void with some of my ramblings...feel free to read it, or not...
Nothing much has been happening over the past few months. After the Christmas break, I halted my rigorous travel schedule mainly because my wallet was getting rather thin. I came here with a substantial amount of money saved, but that lasted about as long as you might imagine. After going to Paris, Rome, Amsterdam, Geneva, the Alps, and a few spots in Spain, my bank account called me up and told me that I'd better apply the breaks a bit. So, I did. In the past three months, I have only taken one trip, two weekends ago. I went to Valencia on the eastern coast of Spain. While there, I was able to eat some amazing food, meet some great people from all over the world, and sit on the beach looking out over the Mediterranean Sea. Besides those few days in Valencia, I have spent the entirety of the past three months in Madrid, hanging out with friends, doing some touristy stuff here, and just enjoying life.
Life here during the week can get rather boring, but that is not necessarily a terrible thing. Yes, sometimes I sit in my room and think, "goodness gracious I'm a lazy sack," just sitting in my room watching TV online or surfing the interwebz. But, isn't that part of why I came? When I feel obliged enough to get out and about, or when a friend calls and suggests that I accompany him or her (well, its always 'her' seeing as how ALL of my friends here are girls), I almost always go. I am taking advantage of my time here, even if I am not always on the move. On the weekends, I usually spend all three days (yes, my weekend is three days...every...time) relaxing at home, at a park if its nice, or hanging out with friends at their place or some other neutral location. On the train to and from work I read books and stare at the crazy people who talk to themselves. During my two and a half hour lunch break I either go home and take a nap, cook myself some lunch, go to a bar and grab a sandwich, or cruise around the neighborhood investigating streets that I have yet to conquer. Now that the weather is slowly getting nicer, I am spending more time outside, walking downtown instead of taking the metro, sitting in a park instead of in my room, or just roaming around because I can.
I try not to worry too much about the ifs, ands, or buts of my current existence, but sometimes that is easier said than done. I like it here. A lot. But, I have not decided what I want to do with myself next year. For one, it has pretty much been confirmed that virtually all of my friends are leaving after this year. So, if I were to stay, I would have to start over socially. My job is easy, but not very challenging, and I am not used to that sort of thing. I have lots more places that I would like to see, but not much money with which to see them, so although I'm in the perfect position to travel and see amazing things, I'm not willing to sacrifice the guarantee of daily food procurement for a few more weekend vacations. I also miss being in a comfortable place, being able to make small talk with a random Joe (or preferably a Josephine). I miss my friends and family and the "normal" life that I came here to escape. I'm not sure how much I miss it, but I do miss it.
On the other hand, my life here is fun and easy, and that is pretty darn cool. I have a pretty standard 9 to 5 schedule, but the job is easy and fun. I don't work Fridays. When I have the money, I can hop on a plane and fly to any one of about 15 countries in a matter of 2 hours and see something new and exciting. I get to speak Spanish everyday, and my Spanish is getting much better. I have lots of great friends that I enjoy spending time with. I love the food here.
There are tons of things about this life that I am currently living that I really enjoy, which is why it is so odd as to why I can't figure out what I want to do next year. I have been looking at jobs in the States, just to see what is out there, and the answer is, "not much." I have applied for a few things, but they have all pretty much laughed in my face and wiped their you-know-whats what my resume. I did manage to snag a few phone interviews, but I quickly found a way to sophomorically stumble through those and utterly smash any chance of those companies calling me back.
I met a guy when I was in Valencia that gave me some life advice. He is a late-30s, once successful businessman who has been very lucky in his life. After making his cash and living the life, he decided to give it all up and travel the world doing charity work. He said that the key is to live in the moment. Now, of course, I have heard this a million times before from just about everyone I've ever come in contact with, but for some reason, this guy just seemed to mean it more. He said that when someone is talking to me, I should truly surrender myself and listen, consciously fighting the urge to develop my response to what they are saying instead of actually listening to their words. He said that when I am outside walking around that I should just stop sometimes, look around, and try to notice things that I would normally not focus on, the color of the sky, the sound of a distant conversation, the chill of the wind that reminds me that I am one of the lucky ones who is still alive. He said that if I make it a habit to live in the moment, the moments in which I live will be enhanced, intensified. I won't have the desire to think about the past or future because the present will be too captivating.
I have been trying to follow this guy's advice and surprisingly with some success. Of course, I can't completely surrender my future to chance, and I have to consider it on some level, but I don't have to let it dictate my present. I have been working on enjoying my life as I live it, trying not to be too regretful or anticipatory. Applying this logic to my what-to-do-next-year problem, I have been reminding myself that I have plenty of time to decide or to let my life decide it for me. 'Next year' isn't until September, which means I don't have to decide until shortly before. I will figure out what I want to do somehow, and if I don't figure it out, then I will make a choice and deal with it either way. Bottom line is, next year is just that, next year. And, no matter what I choose, I will learn from my experience and be better for it in some capacity.
I recently turned 25 and had a nice tranquil evening to celebrate. I had dinner with 15 or so friends and was surprised by a homemade cake with candles. It was the first time I've blown out birthday cake candles in quite some time.
I am open to any and all comments, so feel free to say something. (Don't feel pressured by that comment to say something. I just know that lots of people read this but usually don't comment. I know people think things as they read, and I would be glad to read your thoughts. Again, no pressure, but feel free.)
Turtles are funny.
Sweet tea is tasty.
I miss delicious chicken wings...American style with crazy sauces and ranch for dipping, not the weird Spanish kind.
Baseball season is starting soon.
I miss Wrigley Field being my next door neighbor.
I drink a lot of apple juice.
I'm drinking apple juice right now.
Out of the carton.
Cups are for sissies.
Since I've been in Spain, I bet I have eaten more spaghetti than you have had in your entire lifetime.
I'm poor.
Spaghetti is cheap.
Life is good.
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| The Mediterranean coast of Spain |
Nothing much has been happening over the past few months. After the Christmas break, I halted my rigorous travel schedule mainly because my wallet was getting rather thin. I came here with a substantial amount of money saved, but that lasted about as long as you might imagine. After going to Paris, Rome, Amsterdam, Geneva, the Alps, and a few spots in Spain, my bank account called me up and told me that I'd better apply the breaks a bit. So, I did. In the past three months, I have only taken one trip, two weekends ago. I went to Valencia on the eastern coast of Spain. While there, I was able to eat some amazing food, meet some great people from all over the world, and sit on the beach looking out over the Mediterranean Sea. Besides those few days in Valencia, I have spent the entirety of the past three months in Madrid, hanging out with friends, doing some touristy stuff here, and just enjoying life.
Life here during the week can get rather boring, but that is not necessarily a terrible thing. Yes, sometimes I sit in my room and think, "goodness gracious I'm a lazy sack," just sitting in my room watching TV online or surfing the interwebz. But, isn't that part of why I came? When I feel obliged enough to get out and about, or when a friend calls and suggests that I accompany him or her (well, its always 'her' seeing as how ALL of my friends here are girls), I almost always go. I am taking advantage of my time here, even if I am not always on the move. On the weekends, I usually spend all three days (yes, my weekend is three days...every...time) relaxing at home, at a park if its nice, or hanging out with friends at their place or some other neutral location. On the train to and from work I read books and stare at the crazy people who talk to themselves. During my two and a half hour lunch break I either go home and take a nap, cook myself some lunch, go to a bar and grab a sandwich, or cruise around the neighborhood investigating streets that I have yet to conquer. Now that the weather is slowly getting nicer, I am spending more time outside, walking downtown instead of taking the metro, sitting in a park instead of in my room, or just roaming around because I can.
I try not to worry too much about the ifs, ands, or buts of my current existence, but sometimes that is easier said than done. I like it here. A lot. But, I have not decided what I want to do with myself next year. For one, it has pretty much been confirmed that virtually all of my friends are leaving after this year. So, if I were to stay, I would have to start over socially. My job is easy, but not very challenging, and I am not used to that sort of thing. I have lots more places that I would like to see, but not much money with which to see them, so although I'm in the perfect position to travel and see amazing things, I'm not willing to sacrifice the guarantee of daily food procurement for a few more weekend vacations. I also miss being in a comfortable place, being able to make small talk with a random Joe (or preferably a Josephine). I miss my friends and family and the "normal" life that I came here to escape. I'm not sure how much I miss it, but I do miss it.
On the other hand, my life here is fun and easy, and that is pretty darn cool. I have a pretty standard 9 to 5 schedule, but the job is easy and fun. I don't work Fridays. When I have the money, I can hop on a plane and fly to any one of about 15 countries in a matter of 2 hours and see something new and exciting. I get to speak Spanish everyday, and my Spanish is getting much better. I have lots of great friends that I enjoy spending time with. I love the food here.
There are tons of things about this life that I am currently living that I really enjoy, which is why it is so odd as to why I can't figure out what I want to do next year. I have been looking at jobs in the States, just to see what is out there, and the answer is, "not much." I have applied for a few things, but they have all pretty much laughed in my face and wiped their you-know-whats what my resume. I did manage to snag a few phone interviews, but I quickly found a way to sophomorically stumble through those and utterly smash any chance of those companies calling me back.
I met a guy when I was in Valencia that gave me some life advice. He is a late-30s, once successful businessman who has been very lucky in his life. After making his cash and living the life, he decided to give it all up and travel the world doing charity work. He said that the key is to live in the moment. Now, of course, I have heard this a million times before from just about everyone I've ever come in contact with, but for some reason, this guy just seemed to mean it more. He said that when someone is talking to me, I should truly surrender myself and listen, consciously fighting the urge to develop my response to what they are saying instead of actually listening to their words. He said that when I am outside walking around that I should just stop sometimes, look around, and try to notice things that I would normally not focus on, the color of the sky, the sound of a distant conversation, the chill of the wind that reminds me that I am one of the lucky ones who is still alive. He said that if I make it a habit to live in the moment, the moments in which I live will be enhanced, intensified. I won't have the desire to think about the past or future because the present will be too captivating.
I have been trying to follow this guy's advice and surprisingly with some success. Of course, I can't completely surrender my future to chance, and I have to consider it on some level, but I don't have to let it dictate my present. I have been working on enjoying my life as I live it, trying not to be too regretful or anticipatory. Applying this logic to my what-to-do-next-year problem, I have been reminding myself that I have plenty of time to decide or to let my life decide it for me. 'Next year' isn't until September, which means I don't have to decide until shortly before. I will figure out what I want to do somehow, and if I don't figure it out, then I will make a choice and deal with it either way. Bottom line is, next year is just that, next year. And, no matter what I choose, I will learn from my experience and be better for it in some capacity.
I recently turned 25 and had a nice tranquil evening to celebrate. I had dinner with 15 or so friends and was surprised by a homemade cake with candles. It was the first time I've blown out birthday cake candles in quite some time.
I am open to any and all comments, so feel free to say something. (Don't feel pressured by that comment to say something. I just know that lots of people read this but usually don't comment. I know people think things as they read, and I would be glad to read your thoughts. Again, no pressure, but feel free.)
Turtles are funny.
Sweet tea is tasty.
I miss delicious chicken wings...American style with crazy sauces and ranch for dipping, not the weird Spanish kind.
Baseball season is starting soon.
I miss Wrigley Field being my next door neighbor.
I drink a lot of apple juice.
I'm drinking apple juice right now.
Out of the carton.
Cups are for sissies.
Since I've been in Spain, I bet I have eaten more spaghetti than you have had in your entire lifetime.
I'm poor.
Spaghetti is cheap.
Life is good.
21 February 2011
"This is NOT the United States"
At the present moment, I have what appears to be the development of my 4th sinus infection in the last 5 months. I am not sure if it is in someway connected with the shock of moving to a new place or perhaps the workings of my severely deviated septum, but either way, I am hoping to knock it out with sleep and orange juice before I have to subject my already confused immune system to another round of antibiotics.
I went to work today, feeling like someone had stuffed Play-Doh in my sinus cavities and driven a nail through my forehead. I sauntered in the door, stuffed my coat in the cabinet in the teachers' lounge, and made my way upstairs to my 5th grade classroom. When I walked in, I went straight to the window and opened it to get some fresh air. The room was a bit stuffy and I was already feeling hot. The teacher asked if I was ok, and I said that I felt sick, a sinus infection. Without missing a beat, without thinking for even a second, he stopped and said to me in a stern but still caring voice, "This is NOT the United States...really, it isn't."
Now, before anyone takes offense to that statement, you should know a little bit about this person. I work with him every day at school. We have become quite close at work, and while we do not hang out outside of school, I still consider him to be a good friend. He is always trying to offer me things, help me adjust to life here, and give me advice whenever I need it. But, the part of his background that is relevant to my story is that he spent the last 2 years teaching in a bilingual school in Austin, Texas before coming back to his home country of Spain. In other words, he has a bit more authority than your average Spaniard when making a comment about something not being the US.
He worked as a teacher in the American public school system, and anyone who knows anything about that system knows that he is lucky to have emerged from that experience with all of his teeth, arms, legs and brain cells still intact. He witnessed first hand the rigors of the American work ethic, and while he loved his experience in America, he could have done without the grind that is the American job. He knows that Americans only get 5-10 sick days and a 30 minute lunch. He is aware of the fact that most Americans spend their nights and weekends doing at least a few things that pertain to their jobs.
His statement stood out to me because he was exactly right. This is NOT the United States, and even in the US coming to work sick because you feel obligated should not be the norm. Americans (the responsible ones, at least) go to work when they are sick unless they are throwing up or doing other things better left untyped. We feel like we should be there no matter what, unless that "what" is out of our general control. In Spain, they feel the same way, but they also have a healthy respect for life. When you're sick, you stay home. On the weekends, you don't work. At night, after you leave work, you left work. Period.
Some people may look at the above paragraph and begin to make arguments about America's GDP, economic dominance, and overall lead in most things business. They would probably point to the fact that Americans are relentless and that fewer sick days, shorter lunches, and less time living and more time working are what has helped lead America to the forefront of the global picture in many ways. And, in many respects, I would tell them that they are exactly right. But, for what? Spain isn't "that far" behind America when it comes to standard of living. Our education systems are rated basically even, and I have no idea what Spain's GDP is, but I do know that whatever it is, in practice it translates into the same general feeling of everyday life that exists in the States.
The point to all of this ranting is to say that I wish that American culture felt the same way about life that other cultures do. The saying goes that "Americans live to work but [insert other culture here] people work to live", and it is sickeningly true. Almost everything that Americans do revolves around their job. Heck, most Americans even identify themselves more by what they do for a living than by who they are on the inside. When someone in the States tells you to go home and get better, it usually feels as thought they are really telling you to go home and figure something out so that you can be back at work as soon as possible or else. Here, it feels a bit different. When my friend and colleague said that this "[wasn't] the US," what he was really trying to say was that I should go home and sleep or go to the doctor and get better and come back to work when I'm ready. The funny (and ostensibly sad) thing is that his original statement actually did say all of those things.
In the end, I stayed at work the rest of the day, only coming home during my lunch break to take a nap. (When you have a 2.5 hr lunch break, you can do things like that.) I have done basically nothing all evening, and I hope that the sleep that I am about to get accompanied by the juice I've been drinking and the tylenol I've been taking will combine their powers to do something for my impending illness. Either way, we all know that I will be at work tomorrow, sick or not, because well, I'm American, and that's what Americans do even when we probably shouldn't.
I went to work today, feeling like someone had stuffed Play-Doh in my sinus cavities and driven a nail through my forehead. I sauntered in the door, stuffed my coat in the cabinet in the teachers' lounge, and made my way upstairs to my 5th grade classroom. When I walked in, I went straight to the window and opened it to get some fresh air. The room was a bit stuffy and I was already feeling hot. The teacher asked if I was ok, and I said that I felt sick, a sinus infection. Without missing a beat, without thinking for even a second, he stopped and said to me in a stern but still caring voice, "This is NOT the United States...really, it isn't."
Now, before anyone takes offense to that statement, you should know a little bit about this person. I work with him every day at school. We have become quite close at work, and while we do not hang out outside of school, I still consider him to be a good friend. He is always trying to offer me things, help me adjust to life here, and give me advice whenever I need it. But, the part of his background that is relevant to my story is that he spent the last 2 years teaching in a bilingual school in Austin, Texas before coming back to his home country of Spain. In other words, he has a bit more authority than your average Spaniard when making a comment about something not being the US.
He worked as a teacher in the American public school system, and anyone who knows anything about that system knows that he is lucky to have emerged from that experience with all of his teeth, arms, legs and brain cells still intact. He witnessed first hand the rigors of the American work ethic, and while he loved his experience in America, he could have done without the grind that is the American job. He knows that Americans only get 5-10 sick days and a 30 minute lunch. He is aware of the fact that most Americans spend their nights and weekends doing at least a few things that pertain to their jobs.
His statement stood out to me because he was exactly right. This is NOT the United States, and even in the US coming to work sick because you feel obligated should not be the norm. Americans (the responsible ones, at least) go to work when they are sick unless they are throwing up or doing other things better left untyped. We feel like we should be there no matter what, unless that "what" is out of our general control. In Spain, they feel the same way, but they also have a healthy respect for life. When you're sick, you stay home. On the weekends, you don't work. At night, after you leave work, you left work. Period.
Some people may look at the above paragraph and begin to make arguments about America's GDP, economic dominance, and overall lead in most things business. They would probably point to the fact that Americans are relentless and that fewer sick days, shorter lunches, and less time living and more time working are what has helped lead America to the forefront of the global picture in many ways. And, in many respects, I would tell them that they are exactly right. But, for what? Spain isn't "that far" behind America when it comes to standard of living. Our education systems are rated basically even, and I have no idea what Spain's GDP is, but I do know that whatever it is, in practice it translates into the same general feeling of everyday life that exists in the States.
The point to all of this ranting is to say that I wish that American culture felt the same way about life that other cultures do. The saying goes that "Americans live to work but [insert other culture here] people work to live", and it is sickeningly true. Almost everything that Americans do revolves around their job. Heck, most Americans even identify themselves more by what they do for a living than by who they are on the inside. When someone in the States tells you to go home and get better, it usually feels as thought they are really telling you to go home and figure something out so that you can be back at work as soon as possible or else. Here, it feels a bit different. When my friend and colleague said that this "[wasn't] the US," what he was really trying to say was that I should go home and sleep or go to the doctor and get better and come back to work when I'm ready. The funny (and ostensibly sad) thing is that his original statement actually did say all of those things.
In the end, I stayed at work the rest of the day, only coming home during my lunch break to take a nap. (When you have a 2.5 hr lunch break, you can do things like that.) I have done basically nothing all evening, and I hope that the sleep that I am about to get accompanied by the juice I've been drinking and the tylenol I've been taking will combine their powers to do something for my impending illness. Either way, we all know that I will be at work tomorrow, sick or not, because well, I'm American, and that's what Americans do even when we probably shouldn't.
20 February 2011
Football Match
About a week and a half ago, I went to my first football match. No, not pigskin throwing, helmet wearing, field goal kicking football. Real football. A teacher at my school found out about cheap tickets for the friendly match between the Spanish and Colombian national teams. He decided to take a group of students and asked me to chaperon. Naturally, I obliged.
We took 15 ten year old children to the game, and it was quite the good time. As we walked to the stadium from the metro stop, the adults' duties became serious. There were people everywhere, running around the streets, blowing horns, waving flags, and generally being excitedly obnoxious. As the responsible party for 15 children, we had to all but surround them, making sure that they were together at all times and not wandering off with some stranger with candy. Walking down the street, the kids began making up cheers and chanting in unison, waving their flags and jumping up and down. "España, España, España..." could be heard from prepubescent voices as we made our way to the stadium. Others walking around us looked on smiling and laughing, genuinely entertained by the adorable enthusiasm of a herd of baby fans.
Once at the game, we took our seats in the upper section and settled in for the match. We watched the teams warm up, chatted a bit, and snacked on some things that various kids and adults had brought into the game. The game itself wasn't the most exciting. It was a friendly, which means that in the grand scheme of things, it didn't mean a darn thing for either team. Spain, the defending World Cup champions, played sloppily and slowly, not attacking very much and obviously trying not to break out into a sweat. Colombia played a bit more intensely, and while they had some good scoring chances, Spain would turn it up a bit at the right moments to make sure that their goal stayed empty.
With only 3 minutes left, and the score tied at 0-0, I thought for sure that I was going to attend my first football match without even seeing a goal. Spain had substituted most of its good players, so most of the people on the field were out there as a courtesy, more or less. But, a pass from the corner to the box left the goalie off balance and a one touch shot to the short side put Spain up 1-0. GOOOOAAAAALLLLL!!!!!!!! Everyone in the stadium went crazy. Music played, fans screamed, players celebrated, and the stadium shook. For the last few minutes, Spain played keep away to ensure that their lead stood, and they did, indeed, walk away the victors.
My first football match was a good time. The children were adorable, well behaved, and enthusiastic throughout the whole game. While the game wasn't the most exciting spectacle I have ever witnessed, I had the privilege of enjoying it in one of the most famous stadiums in the world. Seeing the defending World Cup champions was pretty neat, and seeing the fans' passion for their team was even better.
Now, if I could just find tickets to a Real Madrid game...
 |
| Me with my students |
Once at the game, we took our seats in the upper section and settled in for the match. We watched the teams warm up, chatted a bit, and snacked on some things that various kids and adults had brought into the game. The game itself wasn't the most exciting. It was a friendly, which means that in the grand scheme of things, it didn't mean a darn thing for either team. Spain, the defending World Cup champions, played sloppily and slowly, not attacking very much and obviously trying not to break out into a sweat. Colombia played a bit more intensely, and while they had some good scoring chances, Spain would turn it up a bit at the right moments to make sure that their goal stayed empty.
With only 3 minutes left, and the score tied at 0-0, I thought for sure that I was going to attend my first football match without even seeing a goal. Spain had substituted most of its good players, so most of the people on the field were out there as a courtesy, more or less. But, a pass from the corner to the box left the goalie off balance and a one touch shot to the short side put Spain up 1-0. GOOOOAAAAALLLLL!!!!!!!! Everyone in the stadium went crazy. Music played, fans screamed, players celebrated, and the stadium shook. For the last few minutes, Spain played keep away to ensure that their lead stood, and they did, indeed, walk away the victors.
 |
| The view of the field from our seats |
Now, if I could just find tickets to a Real Madrid game...
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