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?

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.

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.

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"?

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.

Nothin' to write home about

When I wake up, I have to climb over Elliot's huge (to me) sleepy body because my side of the bed is against the wall. I suppose I could stand straight up and walk forward until my feet drop off the bed, but that always seems a lot harder in the morning. It's worse when he's on his side; then it's practically like jumping a hurdle.

I walk into the kitchen, rubbing my eyes, to put some water on the stove for green tea. This gives me just enough time to grab my computer, my notebook, and a pen out of the bedroom, leaving Elliot to sleep peacefully without the tick-tack-ticking of my keyboard. By then the water is at a rolling boil; the burner I use gets too hot for rice cooking, but it's perfect for a quick cup of tea.

I finally sit down in the living room with the computer open in front of me on the coffee table, my notebook and pen on my left, and a steaming mug on my right. And I work.

Because, you know, that's what people do to make money and make a living. My job might not be ideal for some -- hell it's not even ideal for me -- but it does allow me to rent an apartment here in Pamplona, pay for local/organic/artisanal food, indulge in the occasional big night out, but work less than 25 hours per week.

Well, shit if this doesn't get old, too. I'm not yet ready to come home, but work is work. And work in Spain doesn't necessarily beat work in Philadelphia or anywhere else in the US, just because it's in Spain. I've finally achieved here the routine that I've had everywhere else that I've ever lived (i.e. Greensburg and Philadelphia).

Get up. Go to work.
Leave work. Eat. Drink with your friends.
Go on a trip. Forget about work 'til Sunday.
Get up on Monday. And go to work.


Part of me is conflicted. What benefit is there to living in Spain when you work/don't make quite enough money, which prevents you from exploring everything you came here to see?

The other part of me is like "Duh doofus, you knew that when you came here."

Damn it. She's right. I came here to learn a language, not to spend all my money waltzing through Europe. I just hope family and friends aren't too bummed out to hear upon our return that we never went to Amsterdam or Paris or Berlin or anywhere cool. (You know that Spain is always at the bottom of everyone's list of places to visit in Europe. You know it.)

Anyway, the routine always sparks another tendency in me: the fantasy of something to look forward to. So, all of a sudden, in the midst of my post-college exotic getaway, I'm starting to think about my next step. Where do we go after we leave Europe?

Believe me, the "plan" changes all the time. A few stellar examples...

1. The better place where they speak Spanish. Leave Spain in December to come home for the holidays. See family, friends, and "The Hobbit." Then hop a flight to Cancun in January to stay at hammock hostels in the Yucatan for 2 months or so. Basically avoid Pennsylvania winter at all costs.

2. The place that totally contradicts the reasoning for #1. Leave Spain in December to come home for the holidays. Find an internship for Elliot in Alaska. Spend 6 months writing and learning to fish and hunt. Embrace the cold by investing in super warm socks and long underwear.

3. The place where all our friends and family live. Leave Spain in December to come home. Stay in Pennsylvania for a year at most. Work a shit ton and save up money to achieve one of the above plans, or something better. Maybe go on a bike trip because we're due.

Is it because the grass just looks greener? Or because I'm at a point in my life where settling makes me restless? I'd like to think the latter, because there are times when I really, really like it here. When I don't want to leave in December. There are also times when I think I should return to a city I know, because I miss the people and places there so much. I just think I owe it to myself to see more before I stay put anywhere.

Doesn't mean train rides through southern France don't get fucking boring. Doesn't mean living in a city with people you love doesn't get fucking old.

We move around and we change our minds. Doesn't mean we're weak or not dedicated. But yeah, it definitely means I don't know what I want.

PS. To any concerned family members, Elliot and I have not made any decisions you don't know about, so no worries. Just humor us, I guess.

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.

Burning bridges

Spain has a reputation alright -- apart from its phenomenal food, contentious history, and dreamy scenery, the country's people have become known as kind of, well, loafers.

Sure, the first lazy latin stereotype to come to mind is the sombrero-dawning Mexican sleeping in the shadow of a cactus. However, especially in northern Europe, Spanish people are often pigeon-holed as lousy workers who mooch off other countries' euros. Because of this, the new conservative government is cutting back, not only on social programs, but also something called the puente (literally "bridge").

Spaniards have a total of 14 religious and municipal holidays per year. This seems like a travesty to some Europeans; take the Germans, who only get between 8 and 11 holidays per year, depending on the state. Keepin' it relative: the US has 10 federal holidays. To top it off, it's common for Spaniards to take an extra day or two off, especially if two holidays occur close together. That's what we call a "bridge holiday".

Let's say, for example, Constitution Day (Dec. 6) falls on a Tuesday and the Immaculate Conception Day falls on the following Thursday (Dec. 8). It's possible -- hell even probable -- that some workers may take off the Wednesday in between. Some businesses might even close for the whole week.

So in the eyes of those who don't live in Spain (i.e. Northern Europeans), they're taking advantage of the European Union. Not only do they take three-hour lunches every day, but they go on vacation all the time, even when there isn't a legitimate holiday. And who takes off for the immaculate conception anyway?

In response to this, the current conservative prime minister has declared that most public holidays (excluding Christmas or New Year's Day) will be moved to Monday -- you know, like they do in the states. That way, Spaniards can only take a three-day weekend, and nothing more.

To some, this is a blow to tradition. After all, these holidays have long been an opportunity for relaxation, maybe a little travel, and celebration.

To others, however, the elimination of bridge holidays have been a godsend. Namely, workers paid by the hour are thrilled to have work. In fact, they found these extra days annoying. After all, they don't get paid for time off.

Salaried workers, of course, could give a shit. They often have paid vacation days, and thus, take off when they want to, whether federally mandated or not.

Now that you know the scoop, join the debate. Because I'm not quite sure how I feel about this issue.

On one hand, you have a society less preoccupied with work. A society that likes spending money to enjoy themselves; whether that means a weekend beach trip, a fancy dinner, or a drinking binge. They value relaxation and recreation, and they try not to take life so seriously.

On the other hand, you've got a bunch of slackers who may be holding other people back. In an increasingly globalized world, it serves to work a more compact schedule that's compatible with that of other countries (especially those within your time zone). And tradition is no excuse; we've been giving up the tradition of oppressing women for decades.

On one hand, I hate this kind of legislation because it encourages a work ethic with which I can't agree. More and more, the 9-5 workday of the Western world is expected, whether you're really working or not, and whether you enjoy your job or not. To assimilate, Spain has changed its retirement age to 67, just like Germany. Spain's life expectancy is somewhere around 81 years old. Doesn't leave a lot of time to enjoy your spoils, does it?

On the other hand, I understand the need to eliminate public holidays. Most of them celebrate a religion I don't support anyway. Plus, there are people who want to work, because they don't have any money. If they can't work, they can't support themselves or their families. The unemployment rate has peaked at somewhere around 23% (nearly 50% in some demographics). But my next question is, why can't they find jobs? Is there a deeper problem with the economy? Will more workdays boost employment?

Something I am really proud of is my own work ethic. I'm organized and I have a great method of conquering projects. But I can't decide if that is my own nature, or whether I've been taught to value production and nothing else. I haven't learned a new skill in a long time, although I've attempted many: banjo, painting, knitting, gardening. Some of my efforts have failed because of outside forces, but most failed because I couldn't get ahead of the learning curve. I wasn't producing anything, so I gave up. It was easier to spend an extra 10 hours at work anyway, because I was guaranteed to make something: cash money.

The good news I used that extra dough to get myself here, another country, another continent. But I face the same troubles in Spain. I plan English lessons, almost compulsively, all the while wishing I had time to devote to writing, reading, or taking a walk. But I can pump out lesson plans like a champ. So I do it.

It comes down to a really difficult question: why do we work? The answer seems so simple: to live.

Who's living?

It ain't no Jeopardy, that's for sure

We've found a great, new, edgy way to learn Spanish. Instead of attending a class, or investing in Muzzy, just follow the several entertaining game shows that air in Spain every single day.

Pros: You broaden your vocabulary through random trivia questions (about both Spanish and non-Spanish people or things), you witness useless and annoying banter between the hosts and contestants, and even if you don't follow a word you can at the very least determine who has won and who hasn't simply by looking for frowns vs. smiles!

Cons: Native Spaniards think you're kind of strange for knowing so much about game shows!

The host of "Ahora Caigo!" welcoming the audience.

1. ¡Ahora Caigo! (American version is called "Who's Still Standing?")
The set-up of this show consists of one contestant and 10 "opponents" who go back and forth answering trivia questions about anything from pop culture to literature to other game shows. If the contestant doesn't know a question, she has three passes to her opponent to avoid losing. If the opponent misses a question, however, she gets a big "aww" from the audience and then falls through a trapdoor underneath her feet. This same fate can fall upon the contestant if she uses all of her passes. So now I'm sure you can imagine the russian roulette ambience this game show has! Each opponent is worth a certain amount of euros to the contestant (1€ to 5,000€), so as she beats more of them, she wins more money. If she beats all of them she gets the ultimate prize of 100,000€. On the weekends, the prize is 200,000€ and opponents are worth even more. Sometimes contestants leave with only some of their winnings, as they're hesitant to go on and lose everything. And sometimes you get to see the host do an awful horse impression!

This "Ahora Caigo!" contestant is trying to determine "what English term is used when a
soccer player makes three goals in a game." 

2. Atrapa un millón (American version is called "Million Dollar Money Drop")
This show is just two contestants answering 8 different questions, each with four possible answers. Sometimes the contestants are two friends or family members, and sometimes the contestant is hooked up with a random celebrity. Whatever their relation, contestants work together to strategically gamble their original quantity of 200,000€ as they answer each question. For example, if two of the answers seem very plausible to the contestants, and they can't decide which to go for, they can divide up their remaining cash (literally bundles of 5,000€) to ensure that they move on to the next level. Whatever money they put on the incorrect answers falls through a trapdoor and into a large container. Most contestants only end up with 15,000€ or less by the end of the game, but that's still something to write home about. 

The stage of "Atrapa un millón" -- note the big pile of cash on the right.

3. Uno para ganar (no American version available, but literally translated as "One to Win")
Now this show separates itself from the others by involving much less knowledge, but a lot more grace, swiftness, and patience. Contestants must complete somewhat useless tasks with various household objects, within 60 seconds mind you, in order to move through each of the ten rounds, each time with more money at stake. The "one" in the name means "one minute" to win. The tasks start out easy -- maybe something like taking 120 tissues out of a tissue box one at a time with only one hand -- and they get harder -- we have yet to see anyone successfully stack three golfballs on top of each other. If the contestant beats every level, which has yet to happen, they win 500,000€. Some people are crazy about this show, especially the contestants. Most of them have seen every episode, and thus every challenge possible. In fact, there is an inventory of the tasks on Wikipedia. My favorite has to be the one that has the contestant wear a pedometer strapped around their head; within 60 seconds, they must head-bang their heads until the pedometer reads 125 steps. Keep in mind, they can't see the pedometer themselves, and so they basically just shake their heads violently for a whole minute. Enough to make you cry -- from laughter!

She may look pretty now, but all contestants look like they're being electrocuted when they do this challenge.

4. Tu sí que vales (again, no American version, but literally translated as "You're Worth It")
Some may not consider this a game show, because it's more like a talent show, but there is a contest and there is money on the line! This show is like "American Idol" in that it involves three judges that influence the fate of the contestant, but it is better because while there are many singers, there are also pizza dough jugglers, magicians, comedians, and dancers. Talk about entertainment! Both the audience and the judges get to vote as to whether the contestant is "worth it." If there is a unanimous vote, the contestant receives 1000€ immediately. Unfortunately, there is also the typical stern and sour judge, reminiscent of Simon Cowell. He has a stupid faux-hawk, wears sunglasses inside all the time, and is only popular because people think he "tells it like it is" when in reality he just likes to say no because it increases ratings. (This reminds me of the recent season six premiere of "30 Rock" where Jenna plays this cynical judge role -- see I still watch American TV, too!)

The host, judges, and other characters on "Tu sí que vales" -- note the jackass third from the left.

So now you know a little bit more about Spain's trashy TV programs. Show those "Jersey Shore" looneys that you're more cultured than them!

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.

The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plains

On this rainy day, which will be among several rainy days this week, I'm not thinking about My Fair Lady, but rather something I just realized I miss.

After a wet bike ride this morning, I came back to the apartment really craving a pale ale.

A bitter,

grassy,

frothy,

golden,

PALE ALE.

As many of you may already know, however, this country is not really known for its beers, but rather its wines. So the closest I can get to a PPA, is some kind of imported Belgian triple-ale. Sure it's high-gravity, but it just ain't the crisp and skunky I'm used to.

More like the beer in Spain stays mainly away from my brain...or something.