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.

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.

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?

There's a dude in my house

For the past three years, he's been following me around. Sleeps with me every night. Makes me food sometimes. Doesn't like when I leave a mess.

For the past seven years, he's been calling me, wanting to talk to me, asking me questions. For a little while, we didn't live so close, and so it was harder to communicate. We've exchanged gifts, secrets, insults, and sometimes clothes.

But now, he's in Spain. And I'm in Spain. And we share everything.


Pop quiz! Is the emphasis on everything good or bad?

Ha just kidding, of course it's mostly good.

Moving here was a bit of a gamble on both our parts. Not because we were going to a place where we had few friends and no job, but rather because we were going to a place where we really only had each other. And one of us lost the other, I think we would both come running back to the US with our tails between our legs. But after 2.5 months, I haven't seen any clear signs of self-destruction.

We've always had a weird power struggle. Constantly competing, often arguing, and occasionally wrestling. So like it would anywhere else, that continues here. You might call us stubborn. That doesn't sound like it should work, does it? Two stubborn people spending 90% of their time together. Dishes should go unwashed, clothes unlaundered, bed unmade, legs unshaved. Yet all these things get done (except for the last one but we agree on that).

I can hear you saying, "Ok, ok, but there's gotta be times when you go for a while without talkin' to each other."

Yeah, there are times like that. You'd be amazed at how childishly brief they are though. Like I said, we're dogs with our tails between our legs.

While we're both very good at voicing our likes and dislikes (about money, about food, about each other), I think we're also rather good at preserving each others' feelings at the same time.

For example, Elliot has an irrational fear of heights. I can't enjoy great lookout spots anywhere: cliff sides, balconies, tall stairwells, bridge underpasses. I can't even fuckin' hang the laundry out the window without being told "Both feet on the ground!"

Ain't such a long way down now is it?

So rather than call him names or tease him (because I mean come on, I'm not going to flip over a rib-high railing) or criticize him for never doing laundry (just like a man), I hurry up and hang the clothes when he's not around. Result: no fuss. Plus I get the chance to do my acrobatic routine on the clothesline.

In the end, I don't have any relationship advice. I can't tell you how this works, or why. All I can really do is assure everyone who knows us that we're doing just fine. We care about each other, and we can make each other laugh.

That's our lovesun, shining right into our eyes, because it's so bright n'all.

Selling myself short

We were barely two weeks into our new lives in Spain, but we already had appointments with prospective students and even more calling. Elliot answered the call from Liliana, but handed the phone to me as she expressed interest in classes for her two sons, ages 14 and 19. We had decided that I would teach the younger learners; and I felt more comfortable with kids. It was still difficult for me to talk on the phone, so I tried to keep the conversation short. With the air of an experienced babysitter, and perhaps a hint of arrogance, I was on my bike to their apartment the next morning.

Liliana buzzed me into the building and greeted me at the door with a baby on her hip.

"Hola, ¿como estás?" I said, trying to make small talk while I looked for a place to put down my helmet and my bag. It had been raining, so I apologized for dripping everywhere. She smiled at me revealing two silver front teeth.

"Somos de Perú," she said, adding that her sons had only been in Spain for four years. Each had some language training, but they hadn't really retained anything. And it turned out that the baby on her hip was her nephew; his father was also living in the apartment.

After meeting the boys briefly, and talking more with their mother about what kind of class they would prefer, we started discussing price. Elliot and I have a sliding scale rate of 10€ to 15€ per hour for our classes, depending on how much preparation we have to do outside of the class. These boys already had textbooks, so Liliana and I figured not much more would be needed. I settled, then, at 10€ per hour. She wanted two hours a week for each of them, so I left thinking I had done right by this family, and I had added 40€ to our weekly income.


My first class with the older teen was just a few days later. I found their place a little easier this time, so I arrived a few minutes early. It was one of the boys who buzzed me up this time, but the mother still greeted me at the door. A few words into our small talk and I realized she was saying something more than hello, how are you. There was a problem with the price.


Suddenly, I felt like she was speaking very quickly. She wanted me to lower the price, that much was clear. She had spoken to other people who said they've heard of teachers charging less. She wanted to pay 35€ instead of 40€.


I tried to explain that the rate I charged was for my time and experience, that Elliot and I were partners and we decided on a minimum rate of 10€ per hour. After all, we had read that most teachers charged a minimum of 15€ per hour. I felt like we were already giving her a deal. No one else had disputed price before. Why did I have to sell myself to her for five more euros?


I gave into her discounted price at first, because I was already there to teach a class, and I wanted to avoid any further confrontation. So I taught the class, all the while thinking anxiously about what had just happened. By the time two hours had passed, I had decided to talk about it later with Elliot. If he thought it was too little, I would call Liliana and explain that we couldn't accommodate her situation. At this point, I definitely preferred talking to her on the phone rather than to her face. 


Once we finished, she came back into the living room with a 50€ bill. I was confused again.


"Lo siento, igual no te he entendido." I felt like an amateur. Dumb. Maybe even crazy. And she seemed a little frustrated. Why wasn't I getting this?


I thought she wanted to pay 35€ per week for two classes, each two hours long. But she thought I expected that price for each class, thus amounting to 70€ per week. Ah, what a great misunderstanding! I was so glad to tell her I didn't expect to earn nearly as much as she thought. I couldn't stop smiling, anticipating that this weird tension would evaporate. We both laughed, me nervously and her somewhat skeptically, but I left feeling better.


The weird tension didn't really go away, though. I realized over the next few weeks that these boys didn't know a whole lot. Each of them had important exams within the month, so we just had to hit the books to cover as much material as possible. And the books sucked. These kids relied heavily on dictionaries and internet translations, which made conversation nearly impossible. Let's just say it's a good thing I spoke Spanish; otherwise the classes may have crashed and burned. 


Plus I was feeling a lot of pressure from their mother. Every week she would ask me how they were doing, if they were advancing. I was hesitant to say yes, because they weren't. But how could I say no -- we had only been working together for a few weeks.


When the exams were approaching, I started to wonder what our classes could be like afterward. I could design my own lesson plans, teach at a more appropriate pace, and maybe even get these boys to enjoy the classes! There was a catch, however. In order for me to do this comfortably, I would have to ask for a little more money. But I felt like money was what had made this relationship weird in the first place.


Biking to their apartment one day, I rehearsed the conversation in my head. At the end of that class, I asked to speak with her. I kept my speech tempo up, to get in as much as possible before she could interrupt. I tried to remain open by making these more formal classes seem like just another option. But at the same time, I emphasized that the books alone don't do a great job of explaining and elaborating certain topics.


She seemed interested, but she still continued to ask why I would want five euros more per class. Sure, I wanted to say, it's only five euros more. But maybe she was thinking that's 20 more per month. So I stood there, and sold myself again. Well, I explained, I have to prepare these extra materials outside of class, and this takes time. She understood, and conceded.


But it just seemed so reluctant. Of course I expected her teenage sons to be a little resistant, but not her. I didn't want her to think that I was teaching classes purely for monetary gain, and at the same time I could not trivialize my own work ethic. 


I'm proud of myself, because I've never asked for a raise before. I didn't think I would feel so conflicted afterward, though.