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The Ineffable Life

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.

A sideview of the Guggenheim Museum

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.

The pintxos selection at one of the bars that we visited

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.

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.

I Sailed to Africa and Got Bit by a Monkey

A scene from the Semana Santa procession in Málaga

Semana Santa is one of the most important times of year in Spain. It is a time of celebration, family, parades, and, of course, no school. With last week being Semana Santa, I decided to take a bit of a trip and bring along some of my friends. Three of my best friends in the world came to visit me from America and we traveled around Madrid, the south of Spain, and the northern coast of Morocco before my friends left to return home.

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.

The Rock of Gibraltar

Today, owned by the British, the Rock is a visitable natural wildlife reserve that is home to caves, WWII tunnels and artillery, a Moorish castle, and wild monkeys. Our first move was to hike up the side of the rock to where the monkeys live and observe them for a while. They like to climb on people and jump on cars, so one must be careful and aware while around the monkeys normal living area. They are free to roam as they please, and are the only wild monkey population in all of Europe. Occasionally, they will get into people's backpacks and steal their things or even bite tourists. One of them actually bit me on the shoulder, but no worries, they are very closely monitored and do not harbor diseases. Aside from the monkeys and their antics, we were able to see some pretty amazing sites while on The Rock. We walked through the halls of a castle that is over 700 years old, explored caves that are said to be millions of years in the making, and went through part of a 12km system of defense tunnels that was built during WWII. The Rock of Gibraltar was a seriously impressive place to visit, and I am glad that I was able to make it there during my time here.

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.

A Barbary Macaque that lives on The Rock

After our few days in Morocco, we returned to Madrid and spent another night here before heading to Segovia for a Saturday excursion. I had already seen the town of Segovia, but my friends had not. So, we took a train up to the village and explored a bit. Aware of the fact that this served as our last day together, my friends and I cherished the time that we had to talk, joke, and appreciate each other's company before having to return to reality the next day.

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.

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

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...

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.

"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.

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.

Me with my students

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.

The view of the field from our seats

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...

Evolutionary Linguistics

(image courtesy of MIT OpenCourseWare via Dr. Orin Percus)

Learning another language is quite the difficult beast. Heck, I have a master's degree that touched heavily on the subject, and I still don't even really get it all that much. Perhaps those are unsettling words coming from someone who has spent the last three years getting paid to teach languages to children, but the truth hurts.

While I have been studying the Spanish language for about ten years now, I have never consciously charted my own progress or even really actively used the language for practical purposes until now. Yes, I spent two years teaching it, and I went to Mexico and Peru on some exciting excursions, but you would be unpleasantly surprised at how little Spanish you have to use in those situations. While a Spanish teacher, I taught a lot of grammar, reading and listening for two reasons. One, teaching speaking is an insanely complicated task that is nearly impossible in a traditional classroom, and my lack of teaching experience led me to stick to the easier-to-teach aspects of language acquisition. And, two, my lack of mastery of improvisational spoken Spanish made it a seemingly wiser decision to avoid having to speak in a spontaneous manner in front of a group of students who expected me to be a master of the art. I had enough trouble in the situation that I was in for two years as a high school teacher on the south side of Chicago; I didn't need my students, most of whom, mind you, could have beaten me to a pulp with their pinky finger, thinking that ole' teach wasn't even knowledgeable of the subject that he was proposing to teach them. So, I stuck to the bread and butter.

Nowadays, I do live in a Spanish speaking country, but you might be surprised at how much Spanish I don't speak. Of course, whenever I have to interact with people in public, whether to conduct my personal business or to meet acquaintances in some form or fashion, I have to whip out my Spanish skills and hope not to embarrass myself...too much, but I work in English and most of my friends are English speakers. While I use Spanish on a semi-regular basis, many of you know that I have been rather disappointed with how much Spanish that I have spoken since I arrived. I expected to be entirely immersed in the language, speaking English only at work and when I was talking to friends at home. Quickly, I learned that this was not to be the case, and I have been weary of eventually leaving Spain without the Spanish tongue that I came here to get.

When I first arrived to Spain, having spontaneous conversations with people, especially when I needed that conversation to result in a service being provided, an item being purchased or a question being answered, made me shake in my proverbial boots. Watching TV in Spanish was a lost cause, and trying to talk to my Spanish roommate was like making a drunk baby discuss politics with James Carville, impossible and downright embarrassing. And, for the better part of my four months here, I have felt as though there has been little change. But, recently, I have had a bit of an epiphany...

Over the past few weeks, I have caught myself speaking without thinking, understanding mumble and even dreaming a bit in my second language. While I am still not perfect and by no means a native speaker, I have all of a sudden perceived a seemingly drastic change in my language. When people stop to ask me directions on the street, I can understand their formerly understood-to-be-jibberish question and answer them without worry. When I meet new Spanish folks in various social settings and encounters, I am able to talk to them about my job, my experiences in Spain and other aspects of my life that were, until recently, locked in a vault in my brain, sealed with an encrypted combination of rolling r's and difficult to pronounce c's, z's and d's. I watch TV shows and movies in Spanish with ease, and reading the paper or listening to a random radio broadcast or other speaker-delivered media is not so bad anymore, either. In a nutshell, my Spanish skills have gotten better. Much better.

This epiphany, of sorts, may come as a surprise to some people who might question how I couldn't have noticed myself getting progressively better as the days painfully passed by, but I would challenge those naysayers to entertain my explanation...

Monitoring the daily progress of language acquisition is like trying to notice the daily growth of a child or of a skyscraper being built. Those who live with or have lived with children know that the "sudden" sprouting of their offspring from baby to young adult is not actually so sudden. It is, however, our recognition of the growth that causes it to be perceived as sudden. Someone who drives by the construction site of a new vertical monstrosity tends to be oblivious to the progress of the building's ascent, but after she has stopped paying attention to the hard hats, beer bellies and cat calls, she looks up one day and is blown away by how far in the sky she has to peer. Well, amigos, this, too, is the story of language acquisition. There are too many factors, too many variables that play into learning a new language to be able to watch it grow in the traditional sense. One must step back and ignore the urge to hurry-up-and-wait, and then one day, when he least expects it, BAM, he is miraculously speaking in another language, never mind how basic or simple his conversations may be. Before he even has time to notice, along come more complicated discussions and the unexplainable entertaining of more spontaneous expression. You see, acquiring a language is like finding your soulmate; it will never happen if you're constantly on the look out, but the moment you forget to look, things magically fall into place.

My language journey is finally starting to come full circle. Teacher is becoming student, and all of those things that I used to tell my students are actually turning out to be true. Listening to the conversations on the metro, the arguments between colleagues and the sweet nothings being whispered in the park by the countless teenagers who seem to be quite curious about what their friend's face, nose and neck taste like has actually paid off. Fighting through countless Spanish TV shows and struggling to converse about even the simplest things has secretly led to a gradual increase in my language abilities, so gradual that I didn´t even notice it. All the while, I thought that I didn't understand what was going on, but my crafty brain has been soaking up language the whole time without me even knowing.

I am, as you might have expected, rather pleased with my recent realization. Of course, even with my aforementioned leap of progress, or better said, my crawl of progress that I have no choice but to perceive as a leap, I still have my issues. I have an obvious accent, a somewhat limited vocabulary and I can't talk about quantum physics or the development of communism in 1950s Cuba, at least, not in Spanish. But, with these ever present limitations, I am getting better, and at this point, better is good. Really good.

Looking Forward Through a Foggy Window

Today, as I sit and write, the world has been rotating for exactly 4 months since I left the United States and came to Spain. Of course, it took me 9 hours to get here (12 if you count my layover in Dallas), and I didn't actually arrive until the 15th at 10am Madrid time, but you get my point.

When looking back over the past year, I peer with humility and awe, astounded by how much stuff actually went on in my life and how lucky I have been just about every step of the way. In 2010, I graduated with my Master's, traveled to Mexico for the first time, finished my commitment to Teach For America, quit my job as a high school teacher, went to Florida on vacation with my family for the first time since I was 9, lived at home for 6 weeks, moved to Spain, began teaching elementary school English, went to 3 different cities in Spain, went to Rome, went to Paris and went to Amsterdam. I met some amazing people along the way and made some great memories. I left a life I had created in the states to pursue another across the world. The first half of 2010 was spent working hard, and the second half was spent hardly working.

I am very happy with the way that the year turned out. I made some big decisions, made some serious leaps, and I have grown a lot along the way. As 2011 has now begun, I am doing my best to continue to enjoy the present, but it is about "that time" when I should be contemplating the future. What I am going to do next year is entirely up to me, and the phrase "the world is at your fingertips" applies to me now more than ever. I have a few options and even more thoughts, but I really have no idea what I want just yet.

I can stay here in Spain next year if I'd like. I have not been formally offered my job again, but I have been informally told by my coordinator that it would not be a problem if I wanted to stay. My school is great, the teachers that I work with are great and I love my kids. Madrid is a great city with lots to offer. It is the cultural hub of Spain and the travel and business center. I love it here, but I still can't decide if I want to stay. I could reapply for the program next year in another region of Spain, doing my exact same job but in a different city (I get priority for being a renewal, so if I apply, I am guaranteed acceptance). Much like the United States, the various autonomous regions of Spain are very distinct, and while I would be in the same country, I would be in a very different place.

I can try to find work in another country, doing something along the same lines as I am doing here or working in some sort of volunteer capacity. I have already done some research on some projects in Central and South America, but I have not found anything solid to really look into. Finding work in another country is very difficult, and volunteer opportunities are usually expensive. Either way, I am counting this idea as an option.

I could go back to the United States and find work there. I have a Master's in teaching and 3 years of experience. I am also certified in the state of Illinois. So, I think that if I went back to the States, I could find something to occupy my time. I have applied for a job with Teach For America that, if I am offered the position, could land me in Chicago, New York City, Washington DC, Atlanta or Nashville; however, even if I am offered the job, I am not necessarily obligated to take it. I will have to look at everything very carefully and decide what is best for me.

The point is, I am terribly confused about what I want, but the bright side is that I do have options. The job in Spain is all but a guarantee if I want it, either in Madrid or in another region. The job in the States is definitely not a guarantee, but I have just as good a chance as any other person applying. I speak Spanish fluently and have international experience, which means that I am appealing to nonprofit organizations looking for cheap labor in the southern hemisphere. And, I have teaching credentials and could do that pretty much anywhere in the States.

Except for teaching in the States again, all of my options sound quite appealing. I love it here in Spain, and I am having the time of my life traveling around Europe. But, do I want to stay? If yes, in Madrid or in another region? I love the idea of traveling to another country and doing some sort of exotic work. But, will I get lonely? The prospect of going back to the Chicago (or somewhere else in the States) and picking back up with my normal life is also attractive. But, would I just get antsy again and run away to some random country to "find myself"?

These are the thoughts that have been bouncing around in my head for some time now, and the clock is rapidly ticking to the time when I actually have to decide. When looking at the timetables of my various options, I have calculated that I have until about mid March, maybe April until I have to make a decision.  I have 3 months-ish before I need to figure out what my next 12 will hold.

I'll figure it out. Either that, or I'll just pick something and go with it. The adventure of it all is exciting and not knowing is part of what makes my current life sexy, but being confused about what you want to do with your life (even if it is only the next year of it) can be a bit unnerving. My only choice is to keep living and learning, and eventually, something will come to me and I will make a choice.

This time next year, will I be in Madrid? Somewhere else in Spain? Somewhere in else in the world? Chicago? The States?

To be perfectly honest, I have no idea.

Holiday Travels

Over the past few weeks, I have been traveling quite a bit. One of the perks of being a teacher is that you get an extended holiday break, and in Spain that means 17 days of rest and relaxation, or in my case, travel. I spent a long time contemplating how I would spend those 17 days, and in the beginning I had grandiose ideas of hopping from place to place with a confidence and swagger that now seems ridiculous. After settling into my life here, I realized that money was going to be more of an issue than I had once thought, and as a result I pared down my holiday travel plans to just a couple of places, and, now having completed the journies, I´m glad that I took the modest route.

After some consideration and collaboration with friends, I settled on three places for my holiday travels, Amsterdam, the Alps, and Geneva. Amsterdam would be my Christmas destination, while the Alps and Geneva would be a beginning of January treat. In between these trips, I would spend time in Madrid, ringing in the New Year in my new, albeit temporary, home.

A look down one of Amsterdam's
many canals

Amsterdam turned out to be an amazing city and one that I hope to visit more throughout my life. The people were nice, the atmosphere was relaxed, and the city was beautiful. Over 70% of people speak at least two languages in the Netherlands, and most of those 70% speak English as their number two. Dutch and English are actually quite similar, and listening to Dutch is like listening to someone speak jibberish English. The cadence is the same, the inflection is the same, but the words are slightly different. Food in Amsterdam is not anything particularly special, but it is also not particularly expensive, which is a plus. The canals that run through the city, built in the 17th century for residential development and defense purposes, turn the city into a grid of beautiful bridges, boats, and closely knit houses. Bicycles rule Amsterdam, with over 50% of its street traffic comprised of bikers. A light rail runs throughout the city, connecting the various areas of the already small community via a cheap and efficient system. Amsterdam is clean, not over populated, and it doesn´t try to wow you with any sort of ridiculous gimmicks or flashy innovations; its simply a nice place to be.

While in Amsterdam, I walked around taking pictures and eating various foods from street vendors and restauranteurs. The highlights, however, were the Van Gogh Museum and the Anne Frank House. The Van Gogh Museum is a collection of over 200 of the famous impressionist´s works, displayed in chronological order and narrated with amazingly detailed literary murals. The museum is small, so as not to be overwhelming, and the art is incredible. Van Gogh perfected the art of appearing to have no idea what he was doing. At first glance, one might even think that a child was the artist, but upon studying the brushstrokes and intentions that are imbedded in the works, Van Gogh´s genius quickly becomes evident. Some of his most famous works are housed in this museum, while others spend their days traveling around the world for all to see. Following the halls of the museum and, consequently, the natural progression of Van Gogh´s work, I was able to gain a stronger appreciation for his talents and his niche in the art world.

The front door of the office building
where the Frank family was in hiding

The Anne Frank House was, hands down, my favorite part of Amsterdam. As a history nerd (coincidentally with a history degree), I was quite excited to be able to step into a piece of history as well known and heartwrenching as this. Having read Anne´s diary in middle school (but regrettably having forgotten most of its contents), I am aware of the story of her family and their attempt to hide from the Nazis. Approaching the building which houses the museum and which, at one point, was the office in which the Frank family hid, I was excited and nervous at the same time. I knew that I would have some strange emotions once inside, reading plaques, viewing pictures, and listening to audio about a 13 year old girl and her family who were all but one killed because of their genetic make-up, but I wasn´t quite sure how exactly I would feel. Inside the museum, no one spoke. I found this to be incredible, considering that your average Joe has no idea when to respectfully keep his thoughts to himself. I have walked the halls of the Vatican, stood in the depths of the Sistine Chapel, and peered at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and during each of these experiences, silence was nowhere near. At the Anne Frank House, silence reigned, and rightfully so. As I and fellow travelers walked through the secret annex and loft of 267 Prinsengracht, we couldn´t help but feel humbled at what we were witnessing. There, in that very house, in those very rooms, lived one of the most recognized families of the 20th century, a family that, like thousands of others, was subject to the wrath of a regime more evil than most of us can conceive. Standing in the room where Anne slept, where she spent most of her time studying languages, reading books, and, most notably, writing her diary, was the most moving of the entire experience. The 13 year old girl who spoke well beyond her years and whose diary has been read by millions and continues to be a living testament to courage and resilience against all odds, spent two years of her tender life hiding from people whom she had never met because of something that was no fault of her own. Knowing what happened to her at the end of it all, and helplessly recognizing that even if I were alive during that time, I could have done nothing to help, is a hard pill to swallow. To describe my visit to the Anne Frank Museum as fun or entertaining would be to show no respect to the atrocities that took place there and the others that it represents. Rather, my Christmas morning stroll through the secret annex of the Frank family and their friends was very much as I expected it to be, enlightening, upsetting, and most of all, humbling.

At the end of the tour of the museum, I bought a copy of Anne´s diary. I have read it once before, but I was a child and was only able to understand it within particular contexts. Now, as an adult, I am tackling the book again and with great pleasure. I have read about half of it so far, and at times, I have trouble putting it down. As I read, I am delighted, sad, encouraged, and angry all at the same time. Sometimes I laugh at cute things that she says while other times I cringe in anger at the knowledge of how the story ultimately ends. I know that I will be a better person for having read the book and digested it thoroughly, but the process is a bit challenging emotionally, to say the least.

After Amsterdam, I returned to Madrid to rest and relax for 8 days. During that week plus one, I spent the days with friends, exploring the city and just hanging out. We stayed up too late, slept too long, and did nothing of any real consequence, but it was a good respite. In the middle of those 8 days was New Years, and I spent that in La Puerta del Sol, counting down the seconds and eating grapes at the stroke of midnight.

A view of the Alps in Chamonix

After New Years, I headed to Chamonix, France, in the southeast of the country. There, along with another friend of mine, I skiied in the Alps and took in the natural scenery. The Alps were incredibly breathtaking, and while I took several pictures, they do little justice at portraying the true majesty that these mountains possess. Skiing down the mountain and looking out at some of the most beautiful landscapes that the earth has to offer was surreal, to say the least. At the foot of the tallest mountain in Europe, Mont Blanc, my hostel was home to several passing travelers, many of whom were quite good company. I met people from Finland, Australia, England, Poland, and France. I cooked my dinners on a camping stove and wore two pairs of pants to stay warm, all worth it in the end. Chamonix is a town much like those in Colorado that serve the same purpose. It is a ski town, full of transient people looking to enjoy the slopes, some for a few days and some for the whole 5 month season. It was a pleasant place to make a quick stop, and skiing at my doorstep was definitely the highlight.

After Chamonix, I headed to Geneva, Switzerland for a day before making the trek back to Madrid. In Geneva, I was able to see the European headquarters of the United Nations, the Red Cross Museum (just the outside, as it was closed when we arrived), and lake Geneva. I ate Swiss chocolate, walked the streets of old Geneva, and strolled across a lighted bridge that spans one of the most famous bodies of inland water in the world. For dinner, my friend and I decided on an Iranian restaurant, which turned out to be an excellent choice. No one there spoke English, and I surely do not speak French, but it was not really a problem. With a few points, grunts, clicks, and whistles, I was able to order and dine with ease. The food was incredible, and while I could not understand a word that they said, the staff seemed to be quite agreeable. After dinner, we headed back to our hostel, and at 4am, we were on our way to the airport to head back to our temporary home. Our vacation was over.

My holiday travels were amazing, and I cherished every moment. I saw some amazing sites, ate some incredible food, did some unforgettable things, and relaxed a bit along the way. I missed Christmas with the family and my little sister´s 16th birthday, but Skype was able to connect us for a bit, which is better than nothing. During these holidays, I was able to take advantage of the longest break that I will have here and perhaps one of the most convenient traveling times of my life. I am quite pleased with my travels and with the memories that I now have of my experiences. And, while I have no trips planned until my Morocco excursion in April, I will be searching for an interim destination with which to fuel my appetite for travel.

Next stop? We´ll see.

To see my pictures of Amsterdam, click here.

To see my pictures of Chamonix and the Alps, click here.

To see my pictures of Geneva, click here.

The City of Lights

Last weekend, I spent a few days in one of the most spectacular cities in the world, Paris, France. A friend and I spent 4 days in the city, site seeing and taking in the culture. After my short stint there, I left feeling thoroughly impressed but significantly poorer than when I first came. Paris is definitely a great city, but its greatness is funded by ridiculously expensive, well, everything.

While we wanted to see "real" Paris and try to spend some time off of the beaten path, we also could not allow ourselves to miss any of the major sites. So, we ended up spending most of our time site seeing at all of the major points in the city. The next time that I am in Paris, I hope to spend a bit more time in some of the more remote areas of the city, taking in the real Parisian culture, but for this first time, a tourist's whirlwind would have to do. The charm of the city is rooted in the same things that the rest of Europe boasts, mainly the interconnected coexistence of history and modernity that creates a sort of unexplainable existential argument that can be seen on every street corner, cafe, and pastry shop. The Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe loom over their respective parts of the city, reminding everyone around of what once was. Most tourists who visit these places aren't even really aware of what they are actually looking at. But, they look nonetheless in awe of the beauty of the structures. At the Louvre and the Musee d'Orsay, I was able to see the Mona Lisa and works from Michaelangelo, Van Gogh, Matisse, Renoir, Degas, Monet, Manet, and several other of the worlds greatest artists.

My friend and I also visited Versailles, in the suburbs of Paris, which put into perspective the amount of excess that was prominent in the days of the old kings and queens of Europe. The mansion that has been home to several French royal families and various historically important events and famous guests, is lined with extravagant paintings, intricate tapestries, and ostentatious decorations that make you forget that you are walking through the halls of someone's house, not a museum full of artifacts. The gardens, which were covered in snow, are said to be some of the most beautiful in the world. We were able to appreciate them in their state of winter sleep, taking some pictures of the pond and trees that captured the serenity of the area, but in the summer I can imagine that the blooms of the flowers and trees coupled with a slight breeze and a bright blue sky would be surreal.

The food in Paris was pretty good, too, but then again, I didn't really eat that much of it. Of course, I ate, but eating real French food turned out to be laughingly expensive and a bit hard to track down. We had one real meal at which my friend ate duck and I had rabbit, but other than that we ate at local eateries that offered pretty standard menu options. It didn't seem to be like some of the other cities that I have been to in which they advertise their traditional dishes and make them readily available to anyone with clear vision. I know of the popularity and prestige of French cuisine, but I was definitely surprised by the difficulty that we had actually finding some and it being affordable.

Our only problem came in the form of a cancelled flight that left us in the city for an extra day. We had to miss work and pay for another night in the hostel, but even with those added inconveniences, I can definitely think of things that are much worse than getting 'stuck' in Paris for another day. Paris turned out to be a fun city to see, one full of history and beauty that pictures do little justice in actually capturing. While I don't think that it will be my favorite city that I visit, I am glad that I was able to go and to see more of the fascinating history and culture that comprises the network of countries on this intriguing continent.

Click here to see my pictures from my trip to Paris.

Just How Lucky We Are

I have recently come to terms with just how lucky I am to be an American...

Before I explain what I mean, allow me to explain what I don't mean. While I am most certainly proud to be an American, I am not going to sit here and proclaim that America is the greatest country and that all others should bow in our presence. Sure, there are lots of good things about America, most of which even those who claim to be anti-American must admit. For instance, America has long been known as the land of opportunity, a place where millions of people from around the world dream about as their ultimate home, many of whom never actually get the chance to make that dream a reality. America has all of the latest gadgets, an advanced postal system, a government that, while dysfunctional most of the time, does not directly persecute or otherwise seek to harm its own citizens, and an economic system that has pushed the world to new heights (yes, I am aware that capitalism is controversial and even hated by many people, but the point is that the American system has allowed for advancements and developments in the world that otherwise would only have been possible in the very distant future, if possible even at all.) America also has a judicial system that, while not perfect, is leaps and bounds ahead of any other system on the planet. Like I said, in many ways, America is good.

I am also willing to admit that America can be quite bad. The aforementioned and lightly praised economic system has lead to a disparity of income that in some cases is knocking on the door of human rights violations and in all cases is an embarrassment to the legacy of the country. America's public education system fails to provide a modern, relevant education to its children and leaves minorities in the dust at every turn, and while whites are far luckier and more privileged in the current system, the education that it provides this majority group isn't much to be applauded, either. The American people are also incredibly wasteful, comprising only 6% of the world's population but producing about 50% of the world's trash. A recent New York Times article by Tara Parker-Pope cites that American's waste 25-50% of all the food that is produced in the United States. Beyond that, many Americans are arrogant, tribalist creatures who are unwilling to entertain the idea that being American doesn't, in fact, make them any better than anyone else.

The point to all of this rambling is to say that America is both good and bad, and while many people will angrily argue either side of that coin without actually ever listening to the other perspective, that is not the debate that I am trying to ignite. The idea that I want to promote is the notion that instead of arguing about America's greatness or terribleness, US citizens should be talking about just how lucky they are to be able to carry that label around. Allow me to outline this concept...

First of all, it is important for me to initially note that not everyone in America benefits from being an American. I am aware that there are people (mostly rural poor) who benefit very little from their homeland's identity, but this group is quite small when compared to its percentage of the overall population. That is not to say that those people don't matter or that since they are such a small minority that they don't count. Instead, I mean to acknowledge that group while making a qualifying statement that the remainder of my points do not necessarily apply to those people within it.

The overwhelming majority of Americans benefit greatly from the happenstance of their birth, and many of them don't even realize it. The debates about same-sex marriage, gun control, educational reform, and economic policy are often inundated with claims that America is the sovereign-entity incarnation of the devil, himself, while failing to recognize that America is one of the only countries in the world where such debates are even allowed to be had. Americans don't fear governmental punishment for the expression of opinions. Individuals and groups alike can march up and down any street they want holding signs, banners, and toting bullhorns to protest or support any number of causes, free of charge and free of persecution. While our school system is floundering and does not compete with the top-tiered nations, the fact that we have a public education system in which boys, girls, rich, and poor are all allowed to participate sets us apart from a large portion of the world and makes us the envy of millions. While race relations in America are not where we think that they should be, the reality is that they are far better than most places in the world, even in so called progressive Europe, where in many cases, African, Middle Eastern and Asian immigrants are treated like second class citizens, not seen as equals, and given little opportunity to advance themselves in societal systems. (Many Europeans would disagree wholeheartedly with the previous statement, but just a few weeks of observation with a fresh perspective will prove this to be generally true.)

In the overwhelming majority of cases, poverty in the United States doesn't even begin to compare to poverty in the rest of the world. Yes, poverty is an issue in America, and there are many who struggle on a daily basis, but it is the definition of struggle that makes Americans different, and lucky. Poverty in America often means receiving governmental assistance, wearing clothes that are old and dirty, not receiving adequate preventative healthcare, living in an area with a higher crime rate and a lower level of education, having a glass ceiling to cap off social mobility, being subject to a cycle of poverty that takes generations to dig out of, if ever. Poverty in much of the rest of the world means not eating at regular intervals and succumbing to malnutrition, being subject to diseases like malaria and cholera that are unable to be contained due to lack of resources and expertise, no running water, no electricity, widespread illiteracy, unreliable emergency services, outdated medical care (if any), fearing violence at the hands of renegade militant groups and corrupt government officials who kidnap, rape, and kill their own people.

Ultimately, we Americans should be proud of the problems that we have, because in many cases, they aren't even really problems at all. Yes, our economy seems to be fading rapidly, BUT our GDP is still much higher than any other prosperous nation. Yes, we have a healthcare system that underserves its people and costs hundreds of times more than it should in many cases, BUT our people aren't dying from epidemic-like, curable diseases that run rampant due to a lack of knowledge and/or resources. Yes, we have a government that is no longer for the people and that makes decisions on a daily basis that are seemingly leading to our demise as a superpower, BUT no one fears that the government is going to raid his house in the middle of the night, raping his wife and children or taking a machete to his neck. Yes, blacks, latinos, women and homosexuals do not stand on an entirely even playing field with the white American male, BUT those minority groups have the right to express their opinions, fight for their rights, and make progress, even if it is slow progression. The fact that there even is a "race debate," "educational reform," "healthcare reform" and a "Prop 8" shows that people are discussing, arguing, working and pushing for a better America. Those sorts of things don't happen in most other places, and even in the places where they do happen, they don't happen to the degree that they do in America.

The beautiful thing about all of America's problems is the realization that many of them are a result of the standard to which we hold ourselves. For many years, America has been seen as the benchmark on several topics, human rights, economic progression, creativity and business marketing, social equality and mobility, healthcare. These are all things that Americans expect to execute perfectly, things that are not perfect anywhere, nor will they ever be. With great power comes great responsibility, and with great success comes high expectations. Americans should be mad at themselves for a lot of which goes on in our country, not necessarily because they are so awfully atrocious, but because they could and should be better. Americans should expect more from our society in lots of ways, not because our society is lacking or disgraceful, but because it is seen as the example to the rest of the world and should comport itself as such. I, for one, am proud of the high standard to which we hold ourselves. America is not a terrible place; it is a place that has the capability of being better, and its citizens know it.

In order to put into perspective this series of high standards and expectations, Americans just need to realize the foundations and purposes of their arguments and discussions. Turning on the TV, one can see any number of channels hosting talking heads that are discussing various issues, many of which are important. The problem is that these talking heads are often talking for the wrong reasons. Listening to the debates, one can easily detect within a few minutes that the participants aren't even really talking about the issue(s) at hand. Instead, they are trying their damnedest to prove the other person wrong at all costs. Instead of discussing their own opinions and working to a compromise, they yell at one another in a blind rage, only concerned with making a fool of the other person and fundamentally forgetting the fact that such a public debate is one of the beauties of American society. It is the same with political debates. The issues are no longer at the forefront, but instead, the chance to prove someone else wrong and by default one's self right. Politicians and political pundits are rarely concerned with what is best, but instead, with what they want personally. For Americans, these sorts of debates and decision making tactics are pointless, because they just create more strife and often cause a circular debate that never comes to any sort of conclusion.

Americans must put their issues into perspective and attack them accordingly. Instead of worrying about whose fault the problems are, we should be talking about how we can fix them...together. Instead of claiming that America is the devil and that all that it does is evil and unfair, we should look at our problems in comparison with the rest of the world, take a deep breath, calm down and create a plan of action that helps the most people in the shortest amount of time.

We just need to realize that we are lucky. Yes, we have our problems. No, we are not perfect. There are lots of things that the US could and should do better, some of which we are making little progress with; however, there are also many on which we are progressing quite nicely when viewed through the lens of the comparative world. In many ways, most Americans have it pretty good, even those who in American are perceived to have it pretty bad. The point is not to trivialize the struggles of Americans or in anyway discredit their problems or issues. The point is to view these struggles, problems and issues with the right frame of mind, a lucky one.

Que Será, Será

So, life has pretty much settled in here in Madrid. I do still experience some new things here and there and when I am explicitly reminded that I am actually living in Spain right now, I get all juiced up, but overall, life has become life. That is not to say that I am getting bored or otherwise dissatisfied with my experience, but instead, that I am actually beginning to feel like I am living a life here and not just visiting.

Moving to a new place is hard. When I moved to Memphis, I was going into the most vibrant and easily accessible social scene that exists, a college campus. I dealt with a bit of the transitional woes that always come with moving to a new spot, but that transition was one that was facilitated by several factors both in and out of the university that helped to soften the blow. When I moved to Chicago, I spent almost a year trying to get settled. While working the equivalent of two whole work weeks in just one calendar week, I hadn't much time to go out and make friends or otherwise acclimate to my new surroundings. I socialized every once in a while, and I did make some friends (and some lasting ones at that), but it took the better part of a year for me to really feel at home.

So far in Madrid, I cannot say that I feel "at home," but I do feel settled to a large degree. I have figured out my routine, gotten to know the city, spent ample time with my students, and made some friends along the way. I am no longer nervous about going to the grocery store and having to talk to the clerk. I rarely have to guess as to what exactly it is that I am ordering off of a restaurant menu. And, I can navigate the train system in my sleep.

Somehow, in only two months, I really feel as though I am living my life here and not just treading water with my head barely high enough so as not to drown. Perhaps it is the fact that I have more free time than I have had in years. Or, maybe its that I don't really have the daily stresses of a normal life. Or, it could be that work requires little effort, and well, thats really my only responsibility, if you can call it that. I have no idea what it is, but I do know that this will not last forever. I also know, however, that I should cherish it while it does. Few people get to take a pause from life and actually live. Now, obviously, every day of my life here is not particularly exciting. I mean, going to work, coming home, cooking dinner, and going to bed is not exactly the plot line of a riveting summer blockbuster. But, its the lack of stress accompanied by the intermittent spurts of excitement that make life here enjoyable. In my spare time, I read the news online, watch some TV online, or plan my next excursion. Sometimes I will call a friend, go for a walk, or take a nap, just because I can. I play English games with my students, shoot basketball with them on the playground, and then take a 2.5 hour lunch break to do as a please. Oh yea, and did I mention that I don't work on Fridays?

I am still not as confident in my Spanish abilities as I would like to be, partly due to the fact that I don't really speak it all that much. That might surprise you, considering where I live, but if you really think about it, it makes sense. I work in English all day because my job is to teach it. I live in an apartment with 3 other people whom I rarely ever see (which means we don't really talk), and meeting Spanish people is like building a skyscraper with play-doh, which is to say borderline impossible. I have a few Spanish acquaintances, and relatively often I get to have good conversations with Spaniards by way of social gatherings or things of the like. But, I would not say that I am completely immersed in the language in my daily life. My Spanish skills have definitely improved since I have been here, and I know that as time goes on, I will meet more people and get more chances to practice; however, after two months, the process is a bit slower than expected.

The only real question looming over my head that might cause me stress in the coming months is what to do next...? I have to decide if I want to do this program again by March. If I decide yes, then the problem is solved and I will be living in Spain for another year. But, if I decide no, then the real questions begin. I have at least a trillion ideas as to what I would like to do with myself and no real way of prioritizing them. I have thought about going back to school in the States or going back to school abroad, but either way, what would I study? I could move back to Tennessee, or back to Chicago, or to another place in the US, but where? There is also the exciting prospect of moving somewhere else in Europe or even somewhere else in the world altogether. I could get a job at a ski resort (I know, random, but I have actually thought about this one). I could stay here and get a random job doing something else in Spain, or I could try to work for Teach For America or the Harlem Children's Zone...and the list goes on. The point is, I have no clue what I want to do after this. Heck, I don't even know what I am going to do this afternoon. But, oh well, if there is one thing that I am learning it is that it will all work itself out. I am not going to allow myself to get stressed out about something that I cannot control at this moment. Worrying about the future would force me to stop enjoying the present so much, and I am not really willing to let that happen. When decision time comes, I will choose, and if I don't like my decision, I will choose again. I think its pretty obvious by now that I am not going to really follow the traditional life path, so choosing and then choosing again and then choosing again doesn't really frighten me. For now, I am going to focus on savoring every moment of the present while looking forward to the immediate future. I will be traveling to Málaga, Spain during the first week of December. Then, I will be off to Amsterdam for Christmas and Geneva, Switzerland and the French Alps for a skiing adventure in early January. After that, well, who cares? Its too far away to matter at this point.

Weekend in Rome

I went to Rome last weekend. After the trip, I started laying out my plan for my extensive blog post, outlining each and every thing that we did and saw and how I felt about it. But, after writing for some time and seemingly getting nowhere, I realized that I was wasting my time. Its not about the individual happenings and the minutia of it all. Its about the experience as a whole, the physical, mental and emotional transformation that I go through every time that I do something new here.

While in Rome, I saw all of the major stuff. My friend and I (and two other Americans whom we met our second day there) sauntered all over the Eternal City seeing the Vatican, the Colosseum, the Forum, Palatine Hill, Trevi Fountain, and dozens of other monuments and spectacles, some famous and some not so famous. We ate incredible food, met some really nice people and experienced a brand new culture for the very first time. My weekend in Rome was amazing and writing about it is difficult, but I think that it is important for me to try. So, avoiding a minute by minute itinerary recap of the entire 4 days, I'm just going to highlight, well, the highlights, and while the "highlights" are still quite extensive, believe it or not, what you are about to read is, indeed, the abridged version of the trip. I could write for days about some of the individual things that I saw and experienced during my weekend in Rome, and someday, maybe I will. But, for now, you get the highlights, and the rest will remain for me to enjoy...

It is important to know that I am a history buff, and that going to Rome was like going to small piece of heaven for me. Now, when I say "history buff," I am not implying that I am all knowing or even incredibly knowledgeable about world history. I think that I know a fair amount, possibly more than the average person, but to me, "buff" is more in reference to my affinity for the subject. I love to think about how things used to be and how that they have come to be as they are in the present moment. Standing in front of something that is hundreds or thousands of years old gives me a sense of humility and insignificance that fascinates me. To stand where others have stood before, others about whom I have read and watched since I can remember, is to come as close to traveling through time as I will ever come. In Rome, I felt this with an almost incessant desire to remain forever in that particular moment, although "that particular moment" references a string of 4 days of constant movement and stimulation during which I would be hard pressed to find a "particular moment" in which I would rather be more than any other.

St. Peter's Basilica at night

The monuments and historical pieces were each impressive and breathtaking in their own right, of course some more so than others. Our first stop was the Vatican City, through which we took a guided tour with a man from Amsterdam. The Vatican is full of some of the most beautiful and respected pieces of art that this world has ever known. Walking through the halls of its in-house museum is like walking through a history book in which Michelangelo and Raphael are the principal illustrators. Sculptures of emperors, dignitaries and gods line the walls. Massive tapestries interwoven with silk and gold hang along corridors. One hallway alone houses over 1,000 hand carved statues, most of which are busts or full body depictions of important leaders and Roman gods. At the end of the museum, I was able to see the Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo's famed masterpiece, which he was forced to paint under intense pressure by Pope Julius II. Michelangelo's ceiling fresco, accompanied by The Last Judgement, his front wall mural painted 24 years after the ceiling, makes for quite a spectacular viewing experience. Outside of the chapel, we passed through the tombs of the popes and St. Peter's Basilica, both incredibly powerful sites full of masterful decor and inexplicable energy. Once outside of the Basilica, we stood in the famous St. Peter's Square, surrounded by other awestruck tourists and Italian police personnel. From the Square, we wandered to the banks of the Tiber River while having a cup of gelato and allowing to marinate in our minds the significance of our just finished tour of one of the most unique sites on earth.

The Colosseum, the Forum and Palatine Hill were also quite interesting. These three sites are all basically in the same spot in the city and are much more "Roman" than the Vatican in that they represent some of the most important aspects of ancient Roman society apart from the catholic sector. The Colosseum was home to arguably the most gruesome series of public entertainment events that the world has ever witnessed. Built by more than 12,000 Jewish slaves between 70 and 80 AD, the venue could hold more than 50,000 spectators and was often packed to the brink of overflowing. Events here consisted of imprisoned gladiators being forced to fight animals and/or other gladiators. Crowds would go crazy as unwilling participants sent to die in front of thousands were forced to fight lions, tigers, rhinoceroses and other monstrous beasts. Across the street, atop Palatine Hill and at the Roman Forum, is where the business of ancient Rome took place. This plot of land was home to most if not all of the major players in the city. Government operated from this hill and many of the major financial institutions set up shop here. Today, Palatine and the Forum are a series of ancient ruins, most of which are generally unrecognizable. Pieces of broken columns and smashed buildings are strewn about in seemingly unorganized fashion. There are some mock up drawings of what the area looked like in its prime, but those are only as accurate as one is willing to believe. A few major structures still stand tall, towering over the not so well preserved collection of artifacts that constitutes most of the area. These conjoined sites of ruins are the most authentically ancient Roman attraction that the city has to offer, and while they were not the most exciting things to walk through, they are an important part of the story of one of the greatest empires in the history of the world, and I am glad that I was able to experience them.

View from the south end of Piazza Navona

In the center of the city I was able to visit the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps, the Pantheon, and Piazza Navona. The Trevi Fountain is considered to be the most impressive fountain in Rome. Nestled against the side of a building, the fountain is a massive sculptural masterpiece depicting Oceanus being guided in a shell chariot by tritons and horses. Legend claims that if you face away from the fountain while throwing a coin over your shoulder and into the water, you will one day return to Rome. Nearby is the Pantheon, a concrete domed structure that is thought to be the most well preserved building in the ancient city. The dome is made of non-reinforced concrete and is the largest of its kind. At the top is a large hole that allows the elements of nature to enter. When it rains in Rome, it rains in the Pantheon. Inside the dome is a chapel of sorts with several shrines to saints and the tomb of the great Raphael. Down the street from the Pantheon are the Spanish Steps and the Piazza Navona. The Spanish Steps is the largest and widest staircase in Europe, leading into the Piazza di Spagna (Spanish Plaza). In close proximity to the staircase is the house of famed poet John Keats and the house of the Medici, an historically significant Italian family who during the Renaissance owned a major part of the financial entities of the region. The Piazza Navona is a large oval plaza that is home to several restaurants, street vendors, and the building that currently serves as the Brazilian embassy. This centralized area of sites was very entertaining, and besides site seeing here, my friend and I spent a lot of our time in the restaurants, bakeries and gelato places nearby.

The food in Rome was, of course, incredible. Pasta, pizza, gelato (actually spelled gelati in Italy) and wine. Among my daily meals, I had the pleasure of dining at two separate restaurants on the edge of the Jewish Ghetto, a serene and eternally romantic 20 minute walk from the Vatican wall. The pasta was cooked to the perfect consistency, not too soft, but not too hard, covered in a presumably homemade sauce that is unrivaled by anything you or I have ever tasted. The pizza, cooked in a handcrafted brick oven, came to our plate with a thin, crispy crust topped with the freshest, purest, most delectable of ingredients. This was, no doubt, real Italian food. There was no shredded cheese or factory produced tomato sauce. The sausage was not mysteriously in the shape of a marble and the ham had been sliced from the cured leg of a local pig, not cut from a log of bologna in the back. The bread was freshly baked and the tiramisu made by some little old Italian lady who has been using the same recipe for so long that she can't even remember from whence it came. The servers didn't speak english, and the menu was nearly impossible to read. At one of these dinners, we were able to sit outside, in the streets of real authentic Rome. Families, children, old couples and priests walked by as we enjoyed our dinner. The stars danced overhead and the remnants of an area once devastated by religious expulsion but now revitalized with traditional culture surrounded our table. Perhaps it was more than the food that made those dinners taste so good. Perhaps it was the ambiance, the fact that we were in Rome and we knew it. Perhaps it was the quiet serenity of a neighborhood consumed with history and significance that I have only dreamed of. Or, perhaps, it was just the food.

The most amazing part of my trip to Rome took place on the night of the first full day that I was there, and believe it or not, it had nothing to do with Rome itself. My friend and I were sitting at a restaurant just off of a small street that leads to Piazza Navona. After chatting with the waitresses, we sat at a table that was precariously situated half indoors and half out. We ordered a bottle of wine to share and started browsing the menu. As we perused the choices, we discussed and decided that we were willing to spend a bit in order to have a good meal. It was our first real night in Rome, and we were going to enjoy ourselves. Eventually, we both made our selections and then sipped wine and nibbled on bread as we waited. After a few minutes, a couple was seated at the table next to us. This couple, two Americans who seemed to be in their mid fifties, was doing the same as my friend and I, enjoying a dinner in Rome and attempting to appreciate a short stay in such a haven of historical magnitude. While completely consumed by my risotto di mare (seafood risotto) and chatting with my friend about our lives back in the states, I was interrupted by the female half of the American couple. "Are you two Americans?" she asked as she nervously gestured, failing at her attempt to hide the fact that she felt rude to interrupt our conversation.

"Yes, we are," my friend and I replied, "where are you all from?"

After this initial greeting, we four began to chat for what seemed like no less than 30 to 45 minutes. They were from Iowa and were taking a vacation to a few spots around Italy. They had been to Italy before, but they love Rome so much that they decided to come back. We chatted about traveling, life in the states, the brutal winters of Chicago, and what we had seen and done in Rome so far. Inevitably, they asked what we were doing in Rome, and we proceeded to explain to them that we live in Madrid as elementary school English teachers but were visiting Rome for the weekend. They appeared to be very impressed and commented extensively on how great they thought it was that we would travel across the world to do such a thing. We gave them some tips on ways to skip the lines at the sites in Rome and presented to them a sales pitch as to why they should visit Spain, a place they said that they had regrettably never been. After some time, they let us know that they were leaving. They spoke to the waitress, paid their tab, shook our hands, and walked away. Once they were walking away, my friend and I decided to call the waitress over to request our own check so that we could go enjoy the rest of our night, but before we could signal for her, she approached our table voluntarily. "I'm not sure if you know this, but they just paid for your dinner," she said in broken but surprisingly well spoken English.

"What?" we said, not sure if we heard her correctly.

"They paid for your dinner. I don't think that they wanted you to know, but they told us that they wanted to pay for your dinner and then they were going to leave."

My friend and I sat speechless, staring at each other not knowing what to say. The couple was still within our view, and we could have run out to tell them thank you and to try to pay them for our food, but we both knew that wasn't what they wanted. They didn't want us to know. They didn't do it so that we could tell them thanks. Instead of running after them and spoiling their good deed, my friend and I both reacted to the shocking revelation with the exact same idea. "When I'm older, I'm going to do that for someone. I have to." There was no doubt in either of our minds that we were just handed a free dinner and an obligation of reciprocation, an obligation that we both accepted willingly. I am not sure why they paid for our food, and I guess it really doesn't matter. I definitely didn't expect them to do so, and when the waitress told us of what had happened, it was one of the few times in my life that I have been rendered speechless. All we did was chat with a couple at the table next to us while enjoying our Italian cuisine. We could have shrugged them off, answering that "yes" we were Americans and then turning our backs to continue our solitary dinner. But, we didn't. We had a great time chatting with them and sharing stories about a wide range of topics. I guess paying our tab and leaving without giving us a chance to realize what they had done was their way of saying "thanks for the company."

Well, you're welcome.

(click here to see the remainder of my pictures from my weekend in Rome)