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"?

Eating ecologically in Pamplona

Maybe I've said this a few times already, but I am both interested in and concerned about food. Not to mention, I really enjoy food. Yes, sure, in the way that we all enjoy food. But also in the way that I'm willing to spend more money monthly on food than on rent or bills (but not cumulatively).

Of course, we ain't pullin' in the dough neither. Wherever we are, we're always on the lookout for cost-effective outlets that can provide us with quality ingredients for our meals.

Upon moving to Philly as a vegan, having experienced the cruelty-free delights that filled the East End Co-op in Pittsburgh, I knew to look for a similar establishment in the city of brotherly love. And I found one. Well, two. But the one had better proximity than the other. And as I made my life in Philadelphia, I grew to know the many other organic local food outlets that the city has to offer. By the end of my Philly stint, I was hitting up the Fair Food Farmstand for some local meat, the Clark Park Farmer's Market (Urban Girls Produce, Urban Nutrition Initiative, Pennypack Farm, Lanisdale Farm, etc.) for eggs, cheese, & some veggies, Millcreek Urban farm for super cheap greens and root veggies, and ultimately the co-op for bulk grains, canned veggies, oils, teas, and other slightly processed food products. When Elliot and I felt saucy, we would go out to the various swanky farm-to-table joints for Pennsylvania gin, in-house pickled vegetables, or some roasted Lancaster chicken. After four years, you get to know the ins and outs of local and (sometimes) sustainable agriculture.

Then you leave the country. You move to another country whose food system is totally different -- perhaps just as fucked -- but very different. We're talking cured ham legs hanging from the ceilings. (Better yet, during Christmas, we're talking cured ham legs on every kitchen counter or dining table, gradually being picked apart by family, guests, and maybe a pet or two.) We're talking indoor markets like Reading Terminal, but better and more common. Sure, people love meat here just like in good ol' 'merica, but they also love their vegetables: white asparagus, artichokes, swiss chard, cabbage, endive, peppers. You will not meet kids here who stick their tongues out at veggies.

Despite the great differences between here and there, I was determined to find some shocking similarities. A few months ago, I tried asking some friends here for the down-low on the Spanish food system. I mentioned this in an earlier post, but I'll repeat anyway: I was looking for the "shit in the meat." Western industrialized food production is fucked anywhere you go, so why not here? While I can find countless books on the monocultures and genetic modifications in my homeland, the answers are not so clear here.

Of course, you know not to go to the supermarkets to search for organic veggies (verdura ecológica). But stores that sell organic food, or even organic food stores, don't represent a beat-all solution. For example, in the US, we have an affinity for fruits that don't really belong to us: bananas, oranges (in some states), mangoes, etc. In the specific case of Pennsylvania, weekly gallons of orange juice are typical, but not sustainable. However, I can easily find organic varieties of almost any fruit in organic superstores like Whole Foods. But the "organic" label and the 3,000+ miles that some fruits travel to reach us don't really mesh. And it's the same in Spain.

Sometimes, I think it could be even worse in Spain. My theory, albeit perhaps a bit premature, is that because some parts of European food production are so beneficial (exclusion of GMO's, farms' proximity to towns and cities, more appreciation for fresh foods, less public endorsement of fast food, etc.), people are blissfully unaware of the overprocessed, unhealthy, falsely marketed products that are leeching into the system. When you grow up believing, as they do in Navarra, that your community highly values food and drink, you also grow up thinking that what you find in your community is good for you. Increasingly, the food in your community is that which is provided by chain supermarkets and giant industrial food corporations.

Regarding organic food stores, I believe there to be a disconnect between organic and sustainable or local, as there often is in the US. I became accustomed to labels of origin on all produce at Mariposa, even at Whole Foods, and I don't really see any of that here. I walk into health food stores here (I know many, each with their pros and cons), and I just kind of hope that the vegetables I'm buying are at the very least from Navarra. Of course, I'm not so naive to think that about oranges (typically from Valencia) or a tomato in February. But when I buy broccoli or spinach, both vegetables that I know can thrive in Navarra, I just hope. There aren't any labels after all, perhaps because customers looking for organic products don't really care to buy local -- or maybe we're all just hoping, even the store owners.

Anyway, to really get to the point of this post, which is somewhat celebratory, at last I found TomateGorriak. This buyer's group is similar to a CSA in that members pay a flat rate to reap the benefits of local (we're talking within a few kilometers local) farmers. TomateGorriak is dissimilar to a CSA in that 1) it's super small scale as the farmers can only supply weekly veggies for a fixed number of people, and 2) members pay monthly as opposed to seasonally or yearly. Perhaps there are some CSA's that run this way, but I found TomateGorriak to be super DIY. They're a group of maybe 30 or so people, farmers included, that have arranged a system of providing locals with local produce. Members pay 50 euros each month to get a nice big bag of vegetables every Monday of that month, enough for 2-3 people. There are several groups like this throughout the region, each with their respective farmers.

I not only feel relieved to benefit from local and seasonal agriculture, but I am also somewhat relieved to find that there are other people in Pamplona that are as pessimistic about food as I am. I attended one of their orientational meetings to be debriefed on the organization and I felt at home, hearing one omen after another about today's food production. Like I said, we're interested and concerned.

Thanks for sticking with me this far. It's almost over now, but before I finish I wanted to ask you, as the reader, what do you value in food? We don't have to agree, I just want to know.

Going underground

Music, for myself and many of the people I know, is the glue that binds us. It often represents a state of mind, be it political or inebriated, to which friends can relate. Not only does it facilitate a successful chill session, but your music tastes can let people know how you like to feel, even if it doesn't show on the outside. Throughout my life, I have associated a kind of music (hell, sometimes I can narrow it down to a fuckin' song) with the people I know and love. 

The most all encompassing word I can think of is alternative, and that's what we tend to be. Our sexualities, our politics, our food, our clothes, our language, and our music reflect an alternative to what is considered mainstream, acceptable, or normal.

Continuously, to my surprise, I've found that this glue might be contained only within the US, perhaps just Pennsylvania. As I meet the alternative folk of Pamplona, we share a lot of things, but music isn't usually one of them. This has perpetuated a long series of thoughts about music, the scene, friendship, differences, etc. which I will try to get into here, as coherently as possible.

Take our trip to Elizondo last weekend: it's a rural little town north of Pamplona, very close to the French border. Elliot and I accompanied our friend in his camper to his band's show at Elizondo's gaztetxea (pronounced gaz-ste-che). Now, the best English to Basque translation we can come up with is infoshop, and even that phrase doesn't have a whole lot of meaning for some people.

In a lot of ways, this show was what I was used to in Philly.

You know, a lot of young people, makeshift stage, shit on the floor, BO smell, etc. There were posters promoting other shows or political protests plastered on the walls, folks drinking beer and smoking cigarettes, and random shouts and screams in between songs.

The differences were interesting though. Besides the in-house bar and the rural location, this show was distinct from anything I had ever experienced in Philly or Pittsburgh. This was mostly due, I think, to the persistence of tradition in everything unconventional.

Before the show, we marched through the town with other attendees and a band of drums, flutes, and violins. This folky spectacle was not really rooted in anything indie (i.e. bearded 20-somethings playing soft tunes), nor was it a harkening to old times (bearded 20-somethings playing the banjo). This tradition maintains itself as just that. We marched for an hour or so, stopping at a few bars along the way so musicians and marchers alike could wet their whistles and enjoy the night.

After the parade, people sat down to dinner (vegan-friendly) provided by the gaztetxea. While potlucks and the like certainly aren't foreign ideas to the alternative scenes in the US, I wouldn't call them common. Furthermore, we usually don't cook for 40+ people pre-show. After dinner, we heard bottles of patxaran clinking as people served themselves and passed them down the table. Eating, and eating with a group, is very integral to Navarran culture. This goes for its subcultures as well. I can't tell you how many times I've heard someone say to me, "Here in Navarra, we eat well, and we drink well."

Finally, the band was not punk at all. Nor was it metal, hardcore, or noise. It was an overall feel-good band with flamenco, reggae, and funk influences. That's not a bad thing, it's just...different. The singer, wonderful. The band, exceptional. The music, definitely rooted in genre(s) that have been popular in Spain (in some cases, across the world) for a long time. From what I could understand of the lyrics, it seems like they use words as a way of challenging norms, rather than the music. In the US, there are a lot of bands that do both, but the music is always somewhat (often very) provocative. However, the band we saw last weekend was pretty chill. Again, not a bad thing.

I wouldn't say my tastes in music are limited. But I will admit that I have some narrow perceptions of what it is to be alternative, or what it is to challenge a system. Sometimes, I think I will butt heads with people due to their ideas of what is radical. Consequently, I miss out on the opportunity to see the divergences in people. I neglect to see their extremes. And so dulls my own ax against a mutual evil we might have, figuratively speaking. 

Of course, I have my own nuanced philosophies, which I tend to hold back due to a fear of butting heads with people who think differently. People who think differently because they were socialized differently.

A question I ask myself, and now I ask you: How does the conversation begin?

Like a dish with sardines, Spain feels normal

It hasn't even been seven weeks, and Pamplona is already getting to me.

I mean, it's not home. It's definitely not home. But there are some things that were weird, and now they aren't anymore.

1. The double-cheek kiss. Remember when I mentioned that a few posts ago? Well, it's getting better. At least to the point where I don't feel like I've bruised my acquaintance's cheek from swinging my head in too fast. Five o'clock shadow rug burn doesn't even phase me anymore. In fact, I notice more when someone doesn't do the kiss.

2. The food. I can go to a market or grocery store without any kind of shopping list, and bring home a meal. Mostly because there's not a huge amount of variation in Navarran cuisine, which is what I try to make most of the time. If you've got bread, eggs, EVOO, leeks, potatoes, chorizo, onion, and garlic, you've got something. Add in peas, carrots, jamón, and some cheese, and you've got a multi-course meal.

A food-related aside -- Elliot and I have taken to sardines (of all things) as a sort of always-appropriate meal starter. We always keep a can or two around, and this weekend we underwent the four-hour task of baking a sardine empanada.

Perhaps a fish empanada isn't so strange to some, but my parents can vouch for the fact that I'm not an adventurous eater, nor have I ever had a taste for the sea. But I dug this. Dipping bites of this "pampanada" in homemade tahini was even better.


3. The language. The best moments are when we're out with friends, or maybe just watching a stupid Spanish game show (more to come on that, btw!), and I'm listening to someone speak when suddenly I realize that I'm following everything they're saying. I literally stop and think to myself, holy shit. I don't even have to try sometimes. My speaking has improved as well, but not nearly as much as my understanding. It's cool because I'm getting what I came here for -- a second language!

4. Teaching English. Elliot and I have eleven students we see every week (some twice a week). That means classes everyday, lesson preparation between classes, and biking or walking all over Pamplona to the students' homes. While this kind of work certainly means less hours relative to what we were used to in Philly, it takes up a lot of energy. Suddenly, English feels like the foreign language that I have to work on, as I attempt to break it down to very basic elements for my students.

5. Wine is cheaper than water. When it is sold by the bottle, anyway. And for this reason, I'm trying to rediscover my wine affinity. I used to dig it way more than beer, until I started drinking beer. But when I'm in a bar, and I order a beer, I'm always disappointed by how much it tastes like piss (i.e. Heineken, San Miguel, Amstel). Plus you can buy a nice bottle of organic wine for maybe 4€ (a little over five bucks), while an organic six pack will run you closer to 12€. And if I'm feeling real cheap and saucy, I could even go for the 0,65€ liter of generic vino tinto. That's right, I use measurements like liter, meter, kilogram, or centigrade, even if I don't fully understand their conversions.


In so many words, I'm starting to feel less out of place. While I don't think my life here will ever be boring, or even routine, I don't feel like a blundering foreigner so much anymore. Don't get me wrong, I make mistakes everyday -- in speaking, in understanding, and in orientation -- but I recover much faster, sometimes so quickly that no one really notices. At the very least, they don't say anything.


PS. Something I still have not gotten used to is taking my camera out of the house, hence the abundant pictures of food and the missing pictures of people, scenery, and buildings. I will try harder!

Since when do you eat meat?

Only a few days into our stay here in Pamplona, Elliot and I were bar-hopping during the siesta, drinking some beers and munching on some pintxos. After we ordered our second round of cured ham with green pepper, Elliot turned to me and said:

"So I guess we're not vegetarians anymore."

Fresh chicken legs from the carnicería ecológica (organic butcher) in an indoor market in Pamplona

Now, that's not to say we didn't eat meat occasionally before we came to Spain. Carnivorous consumption had been steadily increasing, however. And it became almost second-nature within 48 hours of being in Spain.

We've known for a while that our minds were changing. Not because vegan or vegetarian lifestyles are baseless, but because our reasons for leading such lifestyles were baseless. And it sure didn't help that a huge part of Navarran cuisine is pork.

Red bell peppers stuffed with brown rice, chorizo, onion, garlic; steamed borrajas and potatoes on the side

For several years, I followed a pretty strict anti-meat diet. I wanted humane animal treatment and less waste. At the time, with a limited scope of knowledge, I chose soy over flesh, or nuts over dairy as a way of saying that I was unsatisfied with animal products and the consumption of them.

Then I started becoming more preoccupied about food origins, regional agriculture, native species, and local communities. These concerns all led me to start consuming more meat, whether it was the very rare chicken dinner at White Dog Cafe, or the frequent hamburger from my parents' cow-share supply of red meat.

I'm not trying to lay my food politics down on the table for debate, but rather I'm trying to paint a picture. Believe it or not, giving up a vegetarian diet was harder than trying to follow one. When avoiding animal products was my only principle, approaching the "should I eat it?" question wasn't very hard. Widening my diet to include animal products made that question more difficult to answer at times. Maybe that's why a lot of people either go veggie or stop questioning.

Chicken curry with cauliflower, peas, peppers, garlic, and onion, over rice

Living in the US, this question came up every day. "Should I eat this?" And due to the previously mentioned concerns, as well as my own tendency to investigate, I researched US food production pretty heavily. This wasn't that difficult, mainly because of the resurgence of locavore movements that criticize the huge industry that is American food production. Various scholarly articles, movies, zines, books, and magazines exist to discuss US food politics, as well as how to circumvent the industry giants that dominate both knowledge and production.

Ever since we arrived in Pamplona, I've had my eye on food -- wondering where it came from, why it's there, how it was grown, etc. I was googling anything I could think of, in any language I could speak, that might lead me to that pivotal piece of literature that tells me everything that is wrong with Spanish food production.

Roasted chicken with seasoned rice and broccoli

And I have to say, I've had no luck. I cracked several books that looked promising at first, but then just went on to say how backwards the US is concerning GMO use or industrial meat production. I'm hesitant to give up my pessimistic search, but I might just have to accept that food production here is not like it is at home.

Some might even say I'm in the best region of Spain, as far as the region's gastronomy goes. The autonomous community of Navarra has three main elements that contribute to this reputation: the mountain, the river, and the plains. Much like parts of northern California, the varying landscapes of Navarra make it known for its food and drink -- mainly pork, cheese, wine, cider, and vegetables -- all grown/produced within approximately 4,000 square miles!

So no, we're not vegetarians anymore. And I don't think this really matters. I'm still not going to eat a McDonald's hamburger, even though I really would like to. And I'm still going to drink almond milk, because I think it tastes way better than cow's milk.

Ultimately, I'm learning to use the resources that are around me at any given time.

Broete de San Fermin: soup-style dish with chorizo, cured ham, green beans, cauliflower,
lettuce, carrots, and garlic, topped with a fried egg

Yes, all those pictures are meals Elliot and I cooked and ate. Yes, they were delicious.