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.

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.

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?

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.

Pintxo Week 2012 in Pamplona

So it's been a while, for a few reasons:

1. I just acquired a new job teaching a few hours a week (soon to be several) at a legit learning institution. While this requires a little more formality and presentation on my part, it's great to not have to ask these students for money at the end of each class. More on this later.

2. We had a visitor! A friend from Philadelphia had been studying in Rome the past few months. At the end of her semester, she decided to do some traveling, and somehow Pamplona turned up on her route among European gems like Paris, Berlin, and Brussels. It was great seeing a familiar face --unfortunately all faces once familiar to us are not familiar anymore -- and to hear about another side of Europe. Check out her pics on her tumblr and her words on her blog!

3. I had something really big planned for this post. Big and important things take time, especially when you coordinate them with a cool dude like Elliot. But here we are, our first ever blogging duet!

Below you'll find insight and wonder surrounding the pintxo (pin-cho), a very common way for Navarrans to snack. Pintxo is the basque term used here, but tapa is probably more recognizable around the world and it's the term used in the rest of Spain. However, I think the pintxos of the basque country are increasingly different from the tapas you see in other Spanish cities. It has become somewhat of a contemporary culinary concours. And it was especially so a couple weeks ago during the Semana del Pintxo, when bars and restaurants were literally competing to win best pintxo. So Elliot and I splurged on decadent but small plates of food and complementary wines.

We played the role of food critics, even though no one asked us to. Oh, did we ever! And we thought we'd publish a review of the pintxos we sampled, and our general opinion on the caliber of the week overall. Because damn it, our oohs and aahs and icks must be heard!

@ Café Iruña

Degustación #1: River crayfish tartar with ham & duck covered in a chocolate-orange sauce and onion confit over potatoes

Sarah: As you can see in the picture, the special pintxos for the week came as a pair at each bar, called a degustación. Anyway, I really enjoyed both of these pintxos, but I tended to prefer the duck. I felt that the crayfish really lacked something. Perhaps I was looking for a creole touch with some spice. Maybe I just dig potatoes in any kind of gravy.

Elliot: I wasn't looking for any type of cajun spice, because it didn't need it. The sweet and buttery crayfish tails weren't overpowered by the sauce; an homage to the shellfish and all the flavor that their juicy rears have to offer. The fried ramps added little complexity of flavor, and were undoubtedly thrown in for their aesthetic value (note the little cray-man chillin' in the ramp forest). Either way, it was one of my favorite pintxos. The magret, or duck breast pintxo, was a good piece of duck meat in a delicious and well thought-out sauce. It was appetizing, but lacked the creativity and presentation of the crayfish pintxo.

@ Bar La Comedia

Degustación #2: Carrilleras de cerdo ibérico (tender meat from the cheek of an Iberian pig) in Navarran red wine with potatoes and mushroom gravy (the small glass on the left) & pastries filled with Iberian ham salad and nuts, topped with whipped Idiazábal (ee-dee-Atz-abal) cheese, served with a shot of mojito sorbet

Sarah: I'm going to come right out and say it -- this bar really floored me. The presentation, the taste, and the fact that I had never so much as entered the place before. The pintxo on the left was literally Thanksgiving dinner in every bite. I dug the whipped cheese in the pintxo on the right, perhaps more than the pintxo itself. And the mojito sorbet...delicious! Very refreshing and a great surprise.

Elliot: If I had to pick a winner it would be Bar La Comedia. Not only were the pintxos elaborate, decadent and pleasing to the eye, but they offered something unexpected and out of the ordinary. The Iberian ham pastries stood out as being one of the few baked pintxos I had ever come across (most being fried). The whipped sheep cheese topping is what really sold me on this pintxo, though. A stinky meat and cheese lover's savory alternative to the traditional cream puff. The other pintxo continued the Iberian ham trend, adding potatoes and a mushroom gravy complete with scallions to the mix. The ham cheek pintxo wasn't as inspired as the first, but still a memorable and not so typical amalgamation of ingredients and flavors. I initially scoffed at the idea of a mojito sorbet and then became a huge fan when I discovered the intense aromas of freshly muddled mint leaves.

@ Chez Evaristo

Degustación #3: Bacalao (bahk-a-laow) topped with a red pepper sauce & fried artichoke in a mushroom and foie sauce

Sarah: Maybe it was the fact that the previous pintxos were so delectable, or maybe I was just getting full, but I was not impressed. I was really hopeful for both because I dig artichokes and I dig bacalao. But I was not into the fried-ness of the artichokes, and the bacalao didn't have the texture I'm used to. Overall, disappointed I was.

Elliot: A picture's worth a thousand words. These pintxos paled in comparison. The cod was gummy and the artichoke was so fried that I forgot it was an artichoke. 'Nuff said.

@ Bar Okapi

Degustación #4: Lambs' feet with foie and mashed potatoes, covered in a mushroom confit and toasted corn & a morcilla volcano, exploding with fried egg, roasted peppers, and raisins.

Sarah: As vegan as I once was, I've fallen in love with the blood sausage of Spain. So needless to say, I devoured the pintxo on the right. The morcilla, as always, had a warm and nutty taste. The lambs' feet, however, was not jiving with my taste buds. The texture was chewy and the flavor was, well, non-existent. Probably my least favorite of the day.

Elliot: Bar Okapi surprised me. I didn't expect this type of presentation from a bar that I had admittedly written off prior to this trip. The lambs' feet pintxo behooves me (ha ha get it?) to knock a few points off of this degustación's final score. A morcilla volcano, though? Come on. We're talking about a rice-stuffed pig intestine, blood-filled, pepper-topped volcanic eruption. And why not add some raisins? I'll be returning.

@ Bar San Nicolás - La Cocina Vasca

Degustación #4: Marinated salmon topped with tomatoes and avocado & a txipiburguer (baby squid burger)

Sarah: We had passed this place up earlier in the day, because I wasn't drawn by the description for either pintxo. Elliot still managed to drag me out of the house in the evening, after we had already had our post-pintxofest ice cream cone and nap, because he was really enchanted by the idea of fresh salmon and a squid burger. In short, I don't even remember what either one tasted like.

Elliot: Sarah, still somewhat squeamish when it comes to seafood, wasn't excited about this place, but I had to try it. Txipirón, or baby squid, was used in a number of bar's degustaciónes and I was determined to sample at least one txipi pintxo. The mini-burger was everything I had hoped it would be. Reminiscent of a crab cake, the txipiburguer came with a tangy mayonnaise based sauce and typical burger toppings (lettuce, onion and 'mater). It was the salmon pintxo, however, that stole the show. The tomato, salmon and avocado meshed to create a sort of 'seafood guacamole' (gross sounding comparison, but very tasty in practice). The freshness of the individual ingredients are what really made this pintxo. You know how disappointing a poor quality tomato/avocado/salmon can be? This was the opposite of that. In a pintxo like this, ingredients are everything and they nailed it.


Here are some pictures of the Pintxo Week scene...

We stumbled upon a parade of giant puppets...

Unfortunately, we did not vote on the pintxos we liked, which was the whole point of the competition. I'm pretty sure we just went home that night and fell asleep watching Breaking Bad or something.

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.

Pamplona por las mañanas

Recently, I've been making a conscious-although-sometimes-sleepy effort to get up earlier. It's very easy to think that, because I don't start "working" until four or five in the afternoon, I can stay out until whenever and wake up when my body allows.

False. I may only teach English 2 hours per day, but you gotta count the 1-2 additional hours per day that I work on lesson plans. Then add approximately 1-1.5 hours per day of travel (human-powered travel, that is). And finally, I've been doing some freelance translation lately which can occupy 2 or sometimes 3 hours of my day. Consequently, my day should start around 8 AM, not the 11 AM to which I've become accustomed. Otherwise, I'm sacrificing my nights and my weekends to work.

In addition to productivity benefits, getting up at an earlier hour has led me to see a new side of Pamplona. You see, I read that one of the best ways to wake up is to immediately go outside and do something active. So I've been hopping out of bed at the sound of my alarm and rushing out the door before my brain has a chance to say, "Wait, no, dude it's WARM IN THE BED." I wander around for 45 minutes or so and then return home refreshed and with a nice, hot baguette. Anyway, I take my camera with me. That's right, I'm waking up early and taking more photos -- killing two life-goals with one stone!

Parque Taconera: a great park near our place with pebble walkways, playgrounds, and animals. Very peaceful in the 
morning, even though it's situated in the city center.

Maybe you thought by animals I meant squirrels and birds. Nah, this park has chickens, ducks, swans, and deer. In Pennsylvania, this might look like a petting zoo; but since you can't pet them, it looks downright hillbilly. But so cultural gaps go!

As you can see, the deer above are hanging around the edge of this wall because one of them has been left behind and they're not sure how to recover her. I watched as they kept glancing down and she kept looking up.

All he's gotta do is climb this here stone ramp. I suppose it would be difficult to figure out...for a deer.

This duck and swan pond is also located in Parque Taconera. It's impressive that the noise from the streets close by doesn't really permeate the park.

A view from the edge of Parque Taconera of the neighborhood Rochapea. I teach a few classes in this area, located down the hill from the old part. It's also got some great parks and nice walkways alongside the river (Río Arga).

Upon seeing this from the park, I had my "Duh, that's where they keep the bulls when they're not in the ring or in the streets" moment.

I've seen this dilapidated abode close up from the riverside, but getting a bird's-eye view was something new.

Talk about local agriculture! So there's this secret place -- if you go down the hill from the bull ring on the right side, follow the diverging pathway down the hill, and then make a right following the Camino de Santiago -- where you'll find several greenhouses, gardens, ponies, and the rich smell of soil and shit.

So little and tubby! Although the animals along this walk were cute, they weren't very animated at this hour; thus I did not attempt to pet them.

Also stumbled upon this wacky bridge. It's a little difficult to see in the photo, but there are gaps in between the gray
slabs, which make me nervous when dogs cross the bridge because I can't help but imagine little paws slipping
through the cracks. Neato nonetheless!

The Ciudadela (see-you-duh-della) always makes for an epic walk, as a park that once was the fortress protecting Pamplona from outsiders and enemies.

As you can see, it's just a huge expanse of stone and grass. There are several little pathways that lead you in and out of the fortress; also many modern art pieces to gawk at, especially in the center. Elliot tells me he used to come out here to play ultimate frisbee with his ex-pat friends.

In the center of the Ciudadela is a quaint little courtyard where you'll often run into friends taking the same shortcut you are through the park.

Something I may have gone my whole Pamplonian life without seeing: the dude who sweeps and mops the stairwell of our building. Only in the morning!

So getting up early can have many perks, especially if you make an effort to do something with your extra time. To me, these walks are worth the 15 minutes of yawns and sleepy eyes after I wake up. I know I'll be glad to have these photos when I leave.