Hemos vuelto, pero no para siempre

Ya llevamos casi tres meses en la patria, lo que significa tres meses fuera de Pamplona, fuera de Euskal Herria, fuera de España. Esta entrada será para los que hemos dejado allí, los con que hemos compartido unas experiencias inolvidables. En esta entrada veréis como vivimos en Pensilvania (que no tiene ningún vampiro, que yo sepa).

10 Octubre 2012: Llegamos en Filadelfia sin problema. (Bueno, solo hubo problema en el lado americano. El agente estadounidense dudaba la foto de Elliot en su pasaporte. Le preguntaba varias cosas anodinas. Una molestia.) Pero salimos con buenas relaciones con el gobierno español. Les sorprendimos a unos amigos que no nos esperaban. Y seguía la borrachera que ya había durado 2 semanas con las despedidas.

Amigos y Elliot tomando en una taberna que se llama Royal Tavern, ubicada en Passyunk Avenue.

Nos echaron de un bar en el centro a las 2...lo podéis creer?!

El ayuntamiento de Filadelfia, el edificio de albañilería más alto del mundo. 

En el sur de la ciudad, la calle donde vivía yo hace más que 4 años.

El metro de Filadelfia (SEPTA). No es tan conveniente como lo de Barca.

Este pan se llama "bagel" (bei-gul); tiene semillas de sesamo encima, y espinacas, queso Filiadelfia
y pimientos piquillos adentro. Se sirve este "Bike Shop Bagel" en Satellite Café en el oeste de Fili. 

13 Octubre 2012: Llegamos en el pueblo, Greensburg (gríns-burg), donde viven los padres. Seguro que nos habéis oido hablando de la pizza de Greensburg, la que es de la mejor que hemos probado en el mundo. Un pueblo de casi 15.000, el GBG es un sitio tranquilo con una subcultura de arte y medicina homeopática.

Vista del centro del pueblo, desde la calle de los padres Swauger. Y un camión de correos.

Seguro que unos han visto el tatuaje en las costillas de Elliot, lo que tiene una imagen del 

tribunal de Greensburg (se ve en la parte derecha).

El campo de fútbol americano para los futboleros de colegio y de universidad Está en el centro.

Third Street. Estoy sentada en un banco fuera del edificio de seguridad
social. Por arriba está la oficina de correos y la biblioteca.

31 Octubre 2012: Celebramos Halloween. La familia de Elliot y yo nos vestimos como los personajes de la peli "Wizard of Oz". A ver si os suenan los disfraces...

4 Noviembre 2012: Elliot votó por la primera vez. Desafortunadamente, su candidato preferido no ganó.

13 Noviembre 2012: Elliot y yo firmamos un contrato para una casa en Pittsburgh. Que nos visitéis!

21 Noviembre 2012: Conseguí un trabajo que no es enseñar inglés. Empezaré en enero como ayudante administrativa en el único centro de partera en Pittsburgh.

Las cosas que me costaron en acostumbrarme: tomar vasos tan grandes de cerveza, no comer queso de oveja con regularidad, conducir por todas partes

Las cosas estereotípicas que he hecho: comer mucha pizza, comer muchas hamburguesas, comer muchas alitas de pollo, comer muchas papas fritas (bueno, comer mucho en general)

Ya empieza un capítulo nuevo, pero tenemos otro hogar en Pamplona. Gracias a todos que conocimos, por vuestra amistad, bondad y hospitalidad. Claro que vamos a volver.

Giving Madrid a second chance

My first trip to Madrid wasn't necessarily unpleasant...just not ideal. To start, I was there with my teachers. I mean, they were pretty cool teachers, but a school trip just ain't as wild and free. We were there for the first three days of our 17-day Spain-wide vacation.

I got to see many of the touristy sites:

-Parque del Buen Retiro
-Museo del Prado
-Palacio Real
-etc.

Really, I only missed one thing I was excited to see: Guernica. We were on our way to see it in the Museo Reina Sofia. We took the metro, as we had many times. It was tightly packed, so a relief to get off. It was on our walk from the metro stop to the museum that I realized I didn't have my passport. In fact, I didn't have my debit card, license, or the 100 euros I had just taken out of the bank. I burst into tears immediately.

A relevant aside: Before going on this trip, I had purchased one of those beige strap-on pocket things to carry my cash and passport under my clothes. After all, our teachers had done a good job warning us of the European pick-pocket. Unfortunately, those pocket things are downright uncomfortable, and after only a couple days' use, I just threw it in my purse to use as a sort of wallet. My big mistake was putting both hands up to hold on in the metro car, subsequently leaving the mouth of my purse open and vulnerable. Everything was in a perfectly convenient and accessible beige pouch.

The rest of my stay in Madrid consisted of a panicky phone call to my parents, a visit to a police station,  a trip to the U.S. embassy in Madrid (that could have been worse), and a train ride with one of the teachers to catch up with the others, as they had moved onto the next city.

Like I said, not an ideal trip to Madrid. Since then, however, I've lived in a slightly smaller city for 4 years and traveled to other big cities. This time, I was going to enter Madrid with a new, more suspicious, albeit less intimidated, mindset.

And it was delightful. I wasn't robbed, and I didn't do anything touristy. Well, I guess I should say I didn't pay to do anything touristy. (I did take pictures and go to the Plaza Mayor and Puerta del Sol.) We spent most of our time with friends from Pamplona and a friend living in Madrid, going to dive bars that played rock music and eating fried calamari sandwiches (way better than it sounds!). Instead of seeing the awful, crowded, and dangerous side of Madrid, I was seeing the bohemian artsy scene -- a welcome change!

I have no awesome story for this picture. It is what it is. A bunch of locks.

Sitting outside of a bar in a neighborhood called Lavapies.

We stumbled upon a place that sold mainly American snacks, candy, and soda. Really weird.

Taken during our afternoon sit in the Plaza del Dos de Mayo, after some terrible Spanish pizza.

I had been avoiding any kind of ethnic or non-Spanish food in Spain, because it's never very good.
But in Madrid, we tried our luck at a Japanese restaurant, and it was delicious. Great miso soup!

After hearing us poo-poo on Spanish beer, the friend we were staying with recommended this place
called El Pedal (literally, The Pedal). They specialized in bike culture and craft beer (sound
familiar?). I got to sample a Cataluñan imperial ale, which was quite contrary to my original
impression of Spanish beer. Then again, Cataluña ain't Spain.

I guess you just can't write off a place because you got robbed there. After all, it was my guiri-ness (guiri is Spanish slang for tourist) that provoked the incident in the first place.

Have y'all ever conquered the fear of returning to a place, only to find out it ain't so bad?

Philly to Pamplona

A little over a month ago, three Philadelphia phriends decided to visit us in Pamplona. It was like a vacation, because they were leaving their houses and their city to see something new and far away. It was also like a vacation because none of us were going to work. Elliot and I decided to halt our classes and enjoy a week with close buds.

However, they were coming to a place where people live. Leaving San Fermín out of the equation, Pamplona's a pretty normal town. You have your concerts on the weekends, dive bars, good restaurants, few museums, vintage shops, and bus stops. You have the folk who boast about being born and bred here, and the teenagers that complain about how boring it is. Our friends were coming to a city where people don't often come to vacation. So while they came to see a typical place, it was an atypical getaway. Get it? (Sheesh, and I was going to try to squeeze all that into a snappy post title.)

They seemed to really enjoy their time here, which pleased us as hosts. Plus, I got to blend in with them as tourists and take out my camera a lot more!

Thus, the following visual trip log:

Rainy Friday afternoon? No need to force tourist outings on your guest! Just stay in and play
guitar, then go out to drink later.

This kind of street vibe can be found during San Fermín Txikito (chee-kee-toe), the lesser known
San Fermín celebration, and for good reason. This weekend involves all the same traditions as the
infamous bull-slaying blow out (minus bull-slaying), except people of Pamplona actually stick
around for it. Its name translates to "Little Running of the Bulls". In this photo (and the video
below), parents are watching their children be run down by a dude with a bull head on two wheels.

While San Fermín Txikito is a special event, street celebrations are not uncommon in Pamplona's
old part. It seems like every other Saturday, we walk downstairs and there is a parade marching
outside our door, or a concert in some plaza. This photo shows (kind of) the crowd density
during a weekend of fiestas.

Typical post-lunch scene: cubatas (mixed drinks) and guitar performance from talented friends.
What's not in this picture is the beautiful salads and rack of lamb we feasted on beforehand.

You never know when you'll walk through the Plaza del Castillo and be surprised by fireworks.

Late night foosball @ Bar Terminal. Talking shit and making a fool of yourself in an empty bar.

Props to Matt who played an acoustic show with Elliot at a neighborhood bar called Onki-Xin,
despite the language barrier and only a day's notice.

While we didn't plan this, our friend's trip coincided with a union strike in Pamplona (Sept. 26).

We also made the hike up a mountain to visit an abandoned Franco-era
fort that was used as a prison for several years. It was like Eastern State,
but with a creepier, fascist air about it.

Bullet holes, possibly from the fort being under siege, or the 1938 prison break (see link above).

In some ways, a vacation can be more enlightening when you follow someone else's routine. Granted, we weren't working when our friends were here, but we went to our favorite spots and made them some choice meals. It was more about showing them how we live here, which we've learned from the people who actually do live here. It's exciting to show someone around, to introduce them to new things that were once new for you. I'm more often on the other end.

Thoughts on gender in language

In Spanish, there are masculine and feminine nouns. This does not mean that some people, places, and things are more masculine or more feminine than others. This dichotomy involves nouns preceded by the masculine article "el" (definitive) or "un" (non-definitive) and those preceded by the feminine "la"(definitive) or "una" (non-definitive).

For you jerks that think I'm a jerk for using words like definitive and non-definitive, here's a rundown: "el" and "la" translate to "the" most of the time, while "un" and "una" translate to "a" ("an" before a vowel sound!) most of the time. 

Anyway, this can be complicated for non-native Spanish learners, because it involves a lot of memorization. Usually, you can assume that a Spanish noun ending in "a" is feminine, and one ending in "o" or "e" is masculine. But there are exceptions, making it difficult to get it right every time. Plus, if your native language does not have gendered nouns, you're not used to making that distinction in the first place.

Here's where language can become a feminist issue, at least in places where gendered nouns are used (i.e. places with a romance language as its primary language). Take the example of a group of students: 3 ladies and a guy. A fifth friend strolls up, and says, "Hola, chicos." This friend uses the masculine form of the noun because there is at least one male present, even though the group is dominated by women. This is standard for plural nouns in Spanish.

In American English (can't really speak for anyone else, here), if I were that fifth friend, I would have said "Hey, guys" or "Hey, y'all" or literally "Hey, girls and boy." While the first option could be characterized as problematic in the same way that the Spanish salutation was problematic (remember, we're working with a feminist lens), it's not quite the same, is it? In fact, we often use the noun "guys" when addressing a group of girls in English. Still, I prefer "y'all" because, while it may be grammatically incorrect to some, at least it's gender-neutral. Yet, I'll admit that many would consider "guys" to be gender-neutral. See where this gets tricky?

Take another example of a group of 3 feminine-looking girls and an androgynous boy. An adult walks by, and says, "Hola, niñas" because she assumes they're all girls. Maybe these examples seem pointless, but I'm trying to compare how the Spanish and English languages handle these situations differently.

In this second example, a possible English translation would be "Hello, children." This would avoid misrepresenting any of the children, as "children" is a gender-neutral noun. The lack of gendered nouns, in this situation, seems favorable.

While it's difficult to overcome these issues in speaking, Spanish-speakers attempt to do so in writing. For example, a flyer might have "Bienvenid@s tod@s" (Welcome All), which simultaneously addresses both genders with the same noun. I've also seen "Bienvenidxs todxs."

English may not use gendered nouns, but language can still be a feminist issue. For example, in hypothetical or generic situations, where we use a situation or person as an example, we often use the masculine pronoun (his) when referring to this generic subject: When writing a resume, one should always list his most recent position first. 

Granted, this bias is more often seen in writing. Some writers try to overcome this issue by substituting "his" for "her," but some would argue that's not solving the problem at all. Others might just use the plural pronoun (their), but it's still awkward.

This is an example where Spanish is preferred because, for some reason, the pronouns are not gender specific. His, her, and their all translate to "su". Whadayaknow! Thus, in my translation work, I'm constantly faced with the decision of using "his" or "her" in my English translation because I don't have the author's original decision as a basis.

Another issue that's often associated with feminism is the use of different pejorative terms. Without diving too much into the concept of reclamation, I would like to compare some gender-specific curse words in Spanish and English.

It should also be noted that swearing is taken much more lightly here. Of course, you don't want to call your teacher or mother a bad word, but saying the equivalent of "gahd dammit" is not necessarily in bad taste.

Words like "bitch" or "cunt" are generally considered to be offensive. Sometimes, however, they are taken to be very hostile terms when perceived with a feminist lens. The argument? There's no equivalent for a guy. 

I would say "bitch" is used more often, and with less discretion. I think this is because we're conditioned to use "bitch" for girls that are out of line and "asshole" or "dick" for dudes that are out of line. We need a comparable term for each sex. 

However, "bitch" can also be used when someone just doesn't like what kind of girl you are (be that high-maintenance, tight with money, unwilling to fuck, etc.). In other words, I would say that "bitch" is thrown around more as a label than an insult, compared to "asshole" or "dick" anyway (there's that feminist lens, again). This can also be said for the word "slut".

In Spanish, the word "puta" (literally meaning prostitute) might be translated as one of the few female-specific insults I've mentioned. I would say that it can also have the same sting. For dudes, "hijo de puta" would be one of the worst insults, translating to "son of a bitch/whore." Keeping in mind that, like I said, Spanish-speakers use curse words more freely, these two words still raise eyebrows in conversation.

One Spanish insult I like is "cabrón" (meaning asshole, dick, etc.) because it has a feminine equivalent "cabrona." I think this is cool, because English-speakers might give you a weird look if you call a girl an asshole. But maybe she is. And maybe that's as insulting as I want to be.

Like the late great George Carlin once said, "These are the kind of things I think about when I'm sitting home alone and the power goes out." 

Well, this has been fun and all, but I'd really like to hear what y'all have to say. Even if all you want to do is call me a cunt.

Traveling with style

Have you ever purchased something, thinking it was really neat, and then never used it? That was me for about 2 years, up until San Fermín really. I mean, I used it maybe once or twice before that, but only recently did I discover how fucking GREAT the p-style really is.

Via www.thepstyle.com. Check it out and buy one online, or visit your local co-op/alternative 

storefront. I purchased mine at Mariposa Co-op in Philadelphia.

What the hell is a p-style you ask? Well, as you can see in the photo, it's a convenient little funnel that enables someone (like me!) without a penis to pee standing up.

And during a party like San Fermín, where the lines for the bathroom are miles long, and all the dudes pee in the streets anyway, it made my experience that much better.

Now, I carry it with me everywhere. Even when I'm in a bar, it serves in preventing me from having to actually sit on the piss-covered toilet.

An aside about toilets in bars in Pamplona: they suck. Many of them do not have toilet seats, and thus are uncomfortable and generally covered in pee. When you forget your p-style, you usually have to hover over the toilet, sometimes while also trying to keep the door shut because the lock is broken. I've asked myself a couple times, in that situation, if someone were to try to push open the door (because they're drunk and have to pee, not for any violent reasons), would I let them in to save myself from peeing all over my legs or would I do just that? And I decided that I would do the latter, just to prevent whoever from seeing me squatting over the toilet. Then I would go home because I have piss on my pants.

There are many FUNnel alternatives to the p-style. Rather than go on about them, I'll just give you the pros and cons of my model:

Pros: It's blue. And it's longer than other models I've seen so the pee stream runs away from my body and about six inches from my toes, unless I spread my legs a bit (which I've learned to do since getting sprayed a few times). I literally just unzip my pants, and stick it between my legs and pee on whatever wall or person I want to.

Con: There's only one. It's rigid plastic. I've seen others that are foldable, and thus easier to transport. But I think I'll eventually fix this problem by punching a hole in mine and putting it on my keychain.

I can't wait to take this newfound but long-time-coming habit back to the states. Forget holding it in on a car trip! Forget looking frantically for a place that's far enough away from peering eyes! Forget bushes and dumpsters! Forget toilet-hovering!

I've got it all now.

Educating kids in Spain, the American way

In many ways, I feel my primary and secondary school education was sheltered as far as content goes. I learned a lot about the merits of an American democracy, and very little about alternative governing styles. I had one geography class and one world history class throughout all my 12 years of institutional learning, the former when I was 13 and the latter when I was 17. I didn't even learn very much about modern American cities or the cultures within them, only the main industries of each region in the 19th century.

Granted, this perspective changes from person to person, from school district to school district. It's just, I distinctly remember my freshman year in college being extremely eye-opening. I only moved 300 miles east (approximately 500 kilometers) to Philadelphia, and yet it was a whole other world for me.

Three main factors that caused this shift:

1. I knew maybe two or three kids that lived there. They had graduated from my high school before me, and we had hung out a few times with mutual friends. However, they lived in a different neighborhood, 30 minutes away by bike. And they didn't go to my university, or any university for that matter. So, essentially, I was going to a school attended by more than 30,000 people I didn't know. I was kind of obligated to meet new people.

2. I really didn't know Pittsburgh that well, the closest city during my childhood. More about this here. And let's just say that my hometown's population is smaller than that of Temple's main campus. City congestion alone was enough to make my head spin.

3. I was finally on the east coast. I was among those from Boston, New York, and Washington. I was in a city that had ethnic neighborhoods! This diversity permeated my university classes as well: fellow students that had learned English as a second language, professors from all over the globe, and class discussions about poverty, globalization, and gender discrimination.

I quickly realized how closeted my education had been. I remembered fighting for the right to publish an article about teachers' lives outside of class in our school newspaper. And now, in college, I could write a column about vodka tampons.

Just as quickly, I accustomed myself to this kind of learning. And I let my learning leave the classroom, to infiltrate my life in bookstores, bike shops, Vagina Monologues rehearsals, and my kitchen. I had always had a lust for learning, but it was able to flourish in an urban and conflicted environment that was both progressive and archaic at the same time.

In short, I don't see this in my young English students here. Perhaps it truly is just a difference in personality or interests. I enjoy language, discussion, and revelation, while they enjoy Tuenti, soccer, and going to the pool.

Throughout this past month, in the many moments I wanted to roll my eyes and throw up my hands at one of my apathetic pupils, I tried to put myself in her shoes. I remember when my peers were so important to me. I remember texting under the desk during class, and dissing the teacher during lunch. Yet, I was still very studious. I always respected the teacher, at least to her face, and I took her criticism or discipline very seriously. So, sometimes, my students' shoes just didn't fit.

I also saw some of this indifference in my students' parents, and even in other teachers. I'll admit that I'm generally uninterested in whether my students want to learn English or not. I don't expect any passion. I just expect willingness to accept the nature of their education system. You do work, you get grades, and good grades allow you to pursue most any career you want. When I was younger, I did not find history or mathematics to be particularly riveting; but I was highly motivated by good grades. I tried hard despite my disinterest.

I keep coming back to that idea, though: the nature of their education system. When I reflect on what's expected of these kids, part of me wants to blame the class format and the pressure put on exams rather than their apathy toward learning.

For example, I taught a couple classes, to children between 12 and 16 years old, everyday in August. We spent five weeks together, working through a summer review textbook to prepare for an exam they all had in late August or early September. These children had all failed their English exams in May, and were forced to repeat, and pass, the exam or otherwise repeat the course. During class, these children were totally motivated by either the end of class, or the opportunity to talk to another classmate. When assigned work, they worked through it as quickly as possible, often without reading instructions or listening to directions. Afterward, I would correct their mistakes, and they would shake their heads up and down saying they understood, but all the while glancing at their peers and surely ignoring everything I said. At home, to study, they memorized correct answers and even essays. At first, I tried to show them revision and problem-solving methods. Then I realized they didn't care. They just wanted the right answers, so they could pass the exam, and move on. This is all they expect, and this is all that their parents and teachers expect.

Friends and Elliot have told me this extends to university courses. Professors may even deter questions as they "slow down" the class. Students are expected to attend class, listen to lectures, and study, only to be assessed at the end of the semester with a cumulative exam. This exam is all that matters. Afterward, you can forget everything. Empty your brain for the next cramming session.

The nature of the Spanish education system does not seem to facilitate critical analysis or peer-to-peer discussion. Students are encouraged to listen and absorb as much as possible. Whatever is left to learn can be obtained through memorization.

While my education lacked in content (many Spanish teens are learning two or more languages and taking multiple world history classes), I don't think it lacked in methodology. I graduated high school completely capable of writing analytic and persuasive papers, implementing constructive criticism, and managing my time (of course, you can't always ask this of a 12-year-old, but that's what parents are for).

Even after all this experience and reflection, and even some supportive statistics, I still can't help but think that these differences are not cultural or systemic, but rather individually influenced. I remember classmates who refused to follow teachers' advice, who seemed to coast through high school. I suppose one truth that I've found is that, despite individual personality or ambition, the Spanish education system has hardly facilitated my position as a teacher.

Bob Dylan in Spain

I was surprised when Elliot told me a few months ago that some Bob Dylan fan group wanted him to play at their annual celebration of Bob Dylan. He was playing on the street when a guy from this group asked him to come eat, drink, and play music -- probably playing a Bob Dylan song.

Elliot playing on the street in front of Paris 365 during San Fermín.

I'll say his name a fourth time: I just can't believe Bob Dylan has become an even larger part of my life. When I say this, I mean that I got into Dylan when I was young, and although I'm still fascinated by his lyricism and lifestyle, I don't expect this sentiment to grow. (Although I did kind of rediscover the album Desire this past fall.)

This group of Dylan heads, however, has let their love flourish for the guy. Many of them have seen him in concert 10 or more times. Some of them have taken Dylan-related trips to the US (specifically to New York City). They know every album, song, tour. Bona-fide, Pamplonian Bob Dylan fans.

A dedicated fan of the Dylan tribute band: Desolation Band. Check 'em out!

Anyway, Elliot's in a Bob Dylan tribute band now, and they're, well, somewhat successful. They've just started, but their first few concerts have been well-received, by friends and non-friends.

Desolation Band playing at Boulevard Jazz in Pamplona last Saturday.

Spaniards, and I guess you could say Europeans in general, love American and English classic/folk rock. Totally not uncommon to see people jammin' to a CCR hit, singing "Wonchou take a rride on de flyin' espoon!"

Kinda funny, ain't it?

Which vert are you?

I contemplate human behavior a lot, including my own. After reading "Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking" I realized that this contemplative trait makes me an introvert. The book also provoked more contemplating, which I find interesting -- a book about introverts making me more introverted.

Anyway, it relates to my travels in 2 ways:

1. Traveling involves talking to strangers and moving out of your comfort zone. This can involve a lot of stress for an introvert.

2. The book pointed to the United States as the most extroverted country in the world, which I get. The author mentioned Europe as a sort of conglomerate. And she talked about introverts in Chinese communities in California, which I suppose was her representation of Eastern countries. Let's just say her cross-cultural analysis was not particularly awesome. I understand, after all, because you can't load your book with research (if it even exists) from every corner of the world. But it still left me with want to mull over what I see here in Spain. And maybe get some feedback!

The United States has an extroverted reputation because of its focus on speaking your mind, taking charge, and getting ahead -- that's in social circles, work environments, and educational expectations. However, I feel that we also harbor some pretty firm, albeit unwritten, rules regarding personal space. I find that people in Spain don't hesitate at all in approaching a friend, keeping their face very close when speaking to them, or touching them in a friendly way. The same behavior would be considered sort of invasive back home. 

Americans also have a custom of being unnecessarily polite. Not saying that people in Spain are rude, they're just honest. When friends here offer to buy me a beer, I used to say no at first: "No, no, I'll get one! Let me buy YOU a beer!" But they were always very persistent, and often won. Some even confronted me about trying to be polite. So I've learned just to say yes. Because they aren't offering me a beer out of politeness, they just want to buy me a beer. In the same way, people here are not hesitant to tell you if you're getting fat, if they don't like the food, or they despise the music. Not to be rude, just to be honest. On the other hand, the U.S. loves their white lies because they prevent potential conflict.

This brings me to a point that the author of "Quiet" was trying to make. She cited the following statistic a few times: studies show that 1 out of every 2 or 3 people is an introvert. So, while a country like the U.S. may highly value extroverts in many aspects of life, anywhere from 33% to 50% of us are introverted. In other words, we're pushing to raise children and young adults with spunk and pizazz, but some of us just don't have it in our genes. Perhaps our reputation doesn't really speak the truth.

I imagine this statistic can roughly be applied to the Spanish population as well. But I'll still echo that social customs here in Spain are particularly extroverted. So I'm not sure these labels mean the same universally.

Of course, another point that the author makes is that none of us are purely bred introverts or extroverts. We've all got a bit of both, some more than others. (Believe it or not, there is such a thing as an ambivert.) So my love for travel and seeing new places, despite also having a love for Saturday nights at home, makes sense.

Overall, the book was very enlightening, and relates to so many people: employers, employees, parents, teachers, lawyers, etc. (In other words, anybody who comes into contact with introverts, or is one.)

I mentioned feedback at the beginning of the post, and I mean it. Let me know what you think, what experiences you've had as an introvert or extrovert.

Religious influence in the free world

@ La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona

I've had the same conversation a few times since arriving in Pamplona. Usually, this conversation becomes more of an argument, comparing a situation here to one in the United States. I suppose you could call the situation the religiousness of these countries. We start talking about the Catholic influence in Spain, particularly in Navarra, and then I suggest that this religious influence is different but just as strong (if not stronger) in the US, which invites a counter-argument.

Inside La Sagrada Familia

The thing is, no one ever seems to agree with me. You might say that our opinions are rooted in our differing nationalities. But Elliot especially disagrees with me. I probably argue with him more than anyone over this issue.

Mass in La Sagrada Familia

Their opinion: The church, specifically the Catholic church, is very much alive and powerful in Spain. In Navarra, for example, one can choose to give their tax money to the government -- funding public projects and amenities -- or to the church. It's just a matter of checking a different box on the tax form. The only private university in Navarra, and one of the best in the country, is operated by the Opus Dei. In short, the church has too much economical (and thus political) authority in Spanish society.

La Santa Maria de Montserrat, a monastery in Cataluña approximately 4000 ft. above sea level.

My opinion: The church, specifically Jesus, has a very devoted and determined following in the US. There are rights that some people do not have because of religious beliefs. The two big ones are the right to an abortion and the right to a same-sex union. In Spain, they have both! And they've had them for years! Sure, there are efforts to take away these rights, as there always will be, but they've got 'em. I would also like to add that puritanism (rooted in religion) still has a pretty strong sociocultural influence in the US. While it's hard to measure this influence, it's kind of like pornography in the way that you know puritanism when you see it. I'll leave it at that without rambling forever about the many boobs I've seen since arriving here.

Martin Harris Farm, once home to Joseph Smith, the founder of the Mormon church. The residents 

at the time (August 2010) wouldn't let 2 bike tourists camp on their grounds because they weren't 

members of the church. They did, however, give them apples and zucchini bread the next morning.

My argument may not be readily accepted for a couple reasons. Firstly, Catholicism in Spain is very unified. Contrarily, Catholicism in the US represents a minority, and several different other sects of Christianity are practiced throughout the country. Secondly, religious influence in Spain can be measured economically. As I said before, religious influence is more difficult to measure in the US. Perhaps we could measure it counting how many radical Christians have positions of authority.

It's difficult to be brief about something like this, but I tried my best. And I certainly welcome any comments to further the discussion.

La Sagrada Familia, as seen from Parc Guell. Can you say "massive structure in the name of God"?

Detoxing in more ways than one

In short, the past 5 weeks have been very busy.

In long, I made a lot of money (and spent a lot of money) in the past 5 weeks. The first part can be attributed to working 10-hour days of non-stop lesson-planning, document-translating, and bike-commuting. The second part can be attributed to Spain-traveling, beer-drinking, and rent-paying.

In the past 2 weeks. I climbed a mountain, reached two different bodies of salt water, and had wine poured on my head repeatedly. We had friends visiting, with as many as 6 sleeping in one room at any given time. We made food together, slept together, got drunk together (and thus had our hangover together). This can all be attributed to San Fermín (i.e. the Running of the Bulls).

Thus, my blog went on the backburner.

In many ways San Fermín was like...

a party, where there are endless friends, shenanigans, alcohol (well, not really endless alcohol), and shit on the floor.

a war, where every time you leave your house you have to be prepared for battle.

an apocalypse, where all the stores are shut down and the only ones that remain open are taking anything you have, and no one really cares what day or time it is.

a commune, where 13 people can peacefully share approximately 50 square meters and only one bathroom, even if they only just met each other.

a break, where I didn't have to think about work or checking my goddamn email.

Now, I'm on a different kind of vacation. There's no one in the house except the two of us, and a dog. And I will have very few classes this month. So I'll be at home, writing as much as I can.

At the Txupinazo in the Plaza del Ayuntamiento. See those blue signs in the back of the crowd? 

That's our building. We came downstairs about an hour before the rocket, and we still didn't get 

much further than 5 meters from our front door. (via eleconomista.es)

Semi-annual conclusions on teaching English in Pamplona

I've passed the 6-month milestone in teaching this month. And I'd like to offer some thoughts to those interested, as I had some trouble researching the issue before coming here.

1. It was easy to find work. Granted, this may not go for everywhere in Spain, and definitely not everywhere in the world. When we arrived, we hung up 40 fliers on phone booths, bus stops, telephone poles, etc. We also posted a couple announcements on Craiglist-type websites. And that was it. Within a week, we had a few bites. Within a month, we almost had a complete schedule. Since then, we've been rejecting students because we're up to our ears in requests. Although it is common here to study English in school, the language is not widely spoken in Pamplona. That's mostly due to the fact that English teachers are often from Spain. Our students need to master English for their professions or a university entry exam, and this necessitates a native English speaker. Furthermore, people dig the American accent. Some want to travel (or already do travel) to the states, and they want to fit in as much as possible. In short, we came to Pamplona with a resource that (unbeknownst to us) was in really high demand.

2. Students are notoriously flaky. As I mentioned before, this statement implicates students from Pamplona only. Not only do they cancel and reschedule classes on the fly, but some of them can also be very conflicted about whether they even want classes or not. I understand, because it can be difficult to demand someone to demand something of you. I mean, who asks for homework assignments? But it's easy to get frustrated because you often need their money to live a decent life. Of course, when students have dropped my classes in the past, it hasn't been a big deal (see #1). Sometimes, though, I attend a class hoping for a 10-spot that I can use to buy some bread and cheese the next morning. So when my student says "Oh sorry, I can't come to class today" or "Oh sorry, I don't have money today" it can be like a little pinch on your arm. You get over it fairly quickly, but at the time it's a bummer.

3. On that note, it serves to mention money. For the most part, my students have been pretty easy-going about money. They don't argue about price. They offer to pay me when I want to be paid. Sometimes they even tip! It took a while to learn this, but the best thing to do at the beginning is establish a clear payment method. Explain how much you want to be paid, why you're charging that much, and also why you prefer to be paid weekly, monthly, whatever. Students will understand. They might end up changing the class time every week, but they will understand.

4. Not every student is a linguistics nerd. Even though I find studying language (as well as its components and acquisition) very interesting, my students might not. So when I start throwing words around like phrasal verb, deductive modal, or intonation, it doesn't really motivate the student at all. In fact, it just confuses them sometimes. You can't expect them to understand why sentences are structured a certain way. All you can really ask is that they structure them the right way. Some students aren't interested in grammar at all. They just want to feel comfortable talking. So if you're considering being an English teacher for the thrill of discussing linguistic nuances with your students, dream on.

5. Working in an educational institution can be way worse than individual classes, or way better. In my case, it's better. The school is really small, and the classes are often individuals or small groups of people. In addition to English, they offer tutoring in other topics like math, German, and Spanish. The director of the school is really great, and always around. What I really appreciate is that she handles the shitty aspects of teaching (i.e. finding students, charging students, printing/copying worksheets). Plus, these students are paying a tad bit more than I would charge, so it feels like they truly are enthusiastic about learning. Of course, working in a school can be terrible, from what I've heard. Some schools don't pay their teachers very well, they don't offer them any resources to use in their classes, and their students are often young and bored. And some teachers would prefer individual classes, because it offers more flexibility. Most of the teachers I've met in Pamplona are also university students who don't have 20 plus hours to devote to an institutional teaching position.

6. Young students can be great if their parents don't hold you to very high standards. Don't get me wrong, I love being held to high standards. However, there's only so much I can do with one or two hours per week. I realized that some parents only expect you to supplement their children's English teachings, but a few expect you to advance or even replace their children's teachings. The latter is nearly impossible if the child doesn't care to learn or study, which is a common problem. I could give a shit whether they like my classes or not, but when the parents crack down on you for their children's poor grades...no fun. Otherwise, I really enjoy working with kids. Some of them are better than the adults.

7. Lesson-planning is a legit skill. If you can't do it, you might want to reconsider this professional decision. There are the some students that just want to practice speaking in English. They don't expect worksheets, exercises, or activities. You just show up with a topic and discuss it for an hour or so. Most students, though, especially those at a lower level, expect structured classes. This obligates the teacher to not only have materials prepared, but also to arrange their order of presentation. For example, you start with a brief review of vocabulary or easy conversation to get the student warmed up. Follow that with some new concepts related to grammar, pronunciation, spelling, etc. Finally, you want to make sure the student can apply the new information practically so you prompt them to speak or write. It would be stupid to ask the student to write about something they haven't learned yet, or to interrupt the study and application phases of the lesson with an irrelevant game (unless the student is 5 years old with a short attention span).

8. It's okay to not be the world's best English teacher. I've found that while I may be a decent teacher, I don't enjoy it. So sometimes I find myself not trying too hard to think of interesting topics for my students. Shame on me, I know. I'm trying to make a point, though, by admitting that yes, teaching English is just another job to me. But I will do well in any work situation, because I want to please people. I think there is a weird pressure that falls on teachers to be exceptionally passionate about what they do. I don't think that's essential. Sure, you appreciate a great teacher, but why are they any different than anybody else? They still have bad days, when they hate everyone, even your kids. I'm not passionate about teaching English, but I'm good at it. My students aren't inspired, but they're satisfied.

Like I said, I wish that someone like present-me was there seven months ago to tell past-me these things about teaching English. Thus, I'm open to any inquiries from those who are in the same confused/curious/anxious state.

This is your English teacher, using her native language to build lego towers.

Taking it to the streets

A very visible difference between Spain's population and that of the US: the latter keeps its celebrations on the inside.

Maybe it was too presumptuous to infer these countries entirely. What I mean to say is that the street feel that I've felt here in Pamplona is very different from anything I've seen or felt in Philadelphia. Unfortunately, I can't really speak for other Spanish cities, or other US cities for that matter.

My argument, however, remains the same: we Americans don't take to the streets nearly as often.

This past Saturday was the Día del Casco Viejo (Day of the Old Quarter). We celebrated in the usual way: outdoors.

@ Calle de los Mercaderes

@ Calle de la Curia

@ Plaza Consistorial

@ Calle de Jarauta

@ Calle del Pozo Blanco

Sure, this weekend was especially alive with activity and celebration. But you'd be surprised how similar a typical Thursday night is to this scene. Hell, I've seen families (grandparents, children, and all) carrying birthday cakes to sit outside a bar, sing, and open presents. Street life is very present in this city of nearly 200,000. Consider cities of comparable size in the US: Chattanooga, Rochester, Boulder. Granted, I've never lived in those places, but I can bet that it just ain't the same.

Okay, alright, I'll stop making speculations for a minute and tell you a bit about my actual, lived experience in Pennsylvania.

Growing up, I got to know Greensburg, PA pretty well. My dad always liked to drive the long way somewhere, and my daycare teachers were big fans of taking a stroll through downtown.

As I got older, my parents would warn me about walking around at night. The worst hour, according to them, was 2 AM when all the bars let out (all 8 of them). That hour may have been the most bustling hour of the night in Greensburg, as everything else shuts down after quittin' time. Anyway, I avoided the night life in my hometown, whatever that was.

Entering my senior year in high school, I had a pretty solid group of friends and we had a pretty solid meeting spot: DV8, a sweet independent coffee shop downtown. Not only did this place offer music, board games, and soy milk, but it was also open until 11 PM on Fridays and Saturdays. Hallelujah!

Of course, one coffee shop and a city full of old people ain't gonna keep me around. So I moved to Philadelphia. I still wasn't of age to drink, so "going out" consisted of dorm parties and moonlit bike rides during my freshman and sophomore years. Even when I turned 21, going out was just too expensive to do too often. So we bought our beers at a six-pack shop and went to our houses to drink them. Occasionally, on a really nice day, we took our beers to the park. This was, and still is, illegal -- so you had to be discrete.

Even during specifically outdoor functions like parades or festivals, people don't really recognize the street as a place to be. My family has always been a fan of the Greensburg parades (4th of July and holiday parades, specifically). Rarely, though, did we ever stick around after the parade -- you know, to get a drink or a bite to eat. Mainly because nothing was open on a Saturday afternoon, but also because it just wasn't expected.

In Philly, block parties are the shit. But you celebrate maybe once a year and then never talk to your neighbors again until the next one. Plus, block parties rarely involve surrounding businesses that can offer food, drinks, atmosphere, whatever.

So back to speculating. I think that part of this cultural difference is due to some hard-to-change factors.

1. We can't walk around with a drink in our hands. I don't even want to go down the block. I just want to step outside, with my beer, and find a stoop or smoke a cigarette. But unless the bar has a designated terrace or patio, no way José. So we're stuck inside.

2. Pedestrians no longer dominate the streets. In Pamplona's old quarter, cars are permitted, but only at certain times of the day. Any other time you face blockades that can only be removed by police. Even so, people occupy every nook and cranny of these stone streets. As you can see in the pictures above, we're not worried about jaywalking or waiting for the light. We stand wherever we want and we're welcome to do so. In the US, cars dominate, even in an old city like Philly. We're lucky if we get sidewalks that are 10 feet wide. Occasionally, your street might be blocked off for a party. But that has to be arranged. Extra pedestrian space also better facilitates drinking and eating in the street (see #1).

Thus, we have learned to adapt our celebrations. Normally, when I consider the differences between here and home, I come to the conclusion that we're just different, that there are pros and cons to living either way. Regarding this issue, however, I feel -- pretty firmly -- that people benefit enormously from communal celebrations in the street. Even if it's just a Thursday night, and we're all going out with our separate circles, it feels great to be outside with other people. Businesses participate and benefit as well, making the community closer and mutually sustainable.

In other words, I dig this, and I will miss it.

Making judgments about judgers

How often do you attribute your behavior to your background? Are you loud because you're Italian? A good dancer because you're Black? Cultured because you're French? Drunk because you're Irish?

What about the not-so-positive things? Are you lazy because you're Spanish? Selfish because you're American? Bullheaded because you're Australian? Shy because you're Korean?

In my opinion, I was brought up with the rise of political correctness. I grew up in a house where potentially offensive jokes were made, and often. But I went to a school where we learned to avoid generalizations and stereotypes (of white people anyway). Making judgments across the board was bad, and still is.

But when you're sitting at the dinner table with people from all over (Columbia, Sweden, Turkey, US, Spain, Germany), generalizations are practically unavoidable. We don't judge, necessarily, but maybe we make statements like "You are that way and I am this way because you're from there and I'm from here." And then maybe you laugh if it's funny, or keep talking if it's not.

Perhaps it is because we are in a diverse environment that we feel comfortable pointing out our differences. We can talk about skin color, eye shape, and language without offending each other. And we don't ever intend to offend.

I can't help but wonder, does this only happen when you travel?


An example: people here keep telling me how mannerly and hospitable latinos are compared to Spaniards. The generalization can range from something like "They'll always invite you to a drink or a meal" to "They don't know how to say no." It doesn't seem so bad though, because Spaniards aren't afraid to say it in front of latinos, and the latter don't seem offended. So no harm, no foul, right?


Another example: people here tend to stereotype the population of young people studying abroad in Spain. These kids are often characterized by poor Spanish-speaking skills, lots of drinking, and white socks with cargo shorts. They're seen as naive and vulnerable, but also great party-mates. These abroad-ers are privileged, for sure. But does that mean they warrant generalizations?


A final example: friends here always say the people of Pamplona are very guarded, so it's difficult to get to know someone. The population of Pamplona is described as closed-off, suspicious, and maybe even stubborn. I always want to argue, because I've met many great people from Pamplona. Then again, they seem to be people that have traveled. 


I don't think this phenomenon is limited to transient circumstances. I think it has become more apparent to me because I'm often in culturally/ethnically/linguistically diverse environments. Most of the time, I don't think twice about it, because my friends never have bad intentions when they make certain speculations about differences between people. But...I was always told you can't do that. You can't take one example, and generalize it to a whole sect of people.


Maybe it's because I am the one that's self-conscious of being stereotyped. I hate to think that there are people in this very city who dislike me because of my background. But shit, who complains about being stereotyped as an American? I feel like a fuckin' chump whining about how people might pin me as fat, stupid, and cruel -- because I'm not, duh. The thing is, though, I tend to talk a lot in conversations. And halfway through, I realize that I'm talking a lot. I think, is that because I'm American and I feel I should dominate conversations, or is that because I'm me? Hard to tell. So I shut up so they don't think I'm just another big loudmouth.


There are times, though, where I can't let a generalization slide. Maybe it's coming from an unexperienced mouth, or a vindictive soul. So I take the opposite stance, even if I think part of what the person is saying might be true, just because I don't think they know enough to make the conclusion they're making. Is that pretentious of me? Perhaps. I guess it's just the way I try to mediate my own generalization tendencies as well as my need for fairness and accuracy.

An good example of this, I think, would be this guy. Although I don't prefer to give him publicity, because he's just another businessman, that blog post made me think.

Well, first it made me indignant. He could've met a completely different world of people and had a very different outlook. He acknowledges this, and yet continues to generalize Americans as sensitive, overly positive, religious, etc.

The thing is, though, I agree with a lot of things he says, because I've met a lot of people similar to those he describes.

However, I'd be willing to argue to the death with him --not in an effort to defend my country or any bullshit like that-- but because I grew up in that country, and I think I know it better. I will not leave Spain after a year, and draft a list of reasons why it sucks. One year spent traveling or living in a country does not represent the experience of a childhood, a family, or imprisonment in that country. Ya dig?

Anyway, enough rambling from me. Stay tuned for some posts about neighborhood celebrations, American bands in Barcelona, and semi-annual updates on teaching English.