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.

Like a dish with sardines, Spain feels normal

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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


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

Since when do you eat meat?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roasted chicken with seasoned rice and broccoli

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fotos & Haircuts

Maybe I've mentioned this before, but I have trouble taking pictures.

I'm not a photographer. I rely on automatic focus and pre-set settings.
The digital camera I own now is my first in almost five years.
I have a lot of camera-talented friends, which can make me photography-shy.
Taking pictures makes me look like a tourist, and I'd hate to break character.

But I do get excited about the small things here, and I do want to take pictures of them. Things like the creamy head on a glass of Mahou from the tap, or cured ham legs hanging from every ceiling.

Even the things I can see in the US -- like children in church-going clothes or kittens playing with full-grown dogs -- I want to take pictures of them because now they're in Spain!

Gradually, I will overcome this. Because, gradually, I will feel less and less like a tourist.

I have a few photos, though, that I snapped quickly when no one was looking.

Calle de Chapitela, as it intersects with la Plaza del Castillo in the center of Pamplona.

A view of the plaza mentioned in the caption above. This location is totally bustlin' between about
7 and 8pm (i.e. after people leave work but before they go out for dinner).

Elliot, chattin' it up on the cheapest cell phone Spain would allow with a
prospective English student.

Elliot, sellin' his talents on Carlos III, earning an average of $15 per hour.
The little cardboard sign in his guitar case pleads "Thank you for your help."

Four trash/recycing containers, often found at busy intersections. The two on the left are for
"organic materials" and other trash, while the blue and yellow on the right are for paper materials,
and cans or bottles, respectively. 

Homemade pintxos, by Elliot L.Swauger. From left to right: goat cheese with jamón iberico
(Spanish cured ham) and roasted reds, the same except replace roasted reds with honey,
scrambled eggs with red and green pepper, and goat cheese with both chorizo dulce and
picante (sweet and spicy pork sausage).

In addition to my anxiety surrounding camera use, I've also been pretty hesitant about carrying out exchanges with people in businesses. Suddenly, something like buying cheese becomes a panic attack because I can't remember whether there are 2 pounds in a kilo or vice versa (it's the former) and thus can't decide how much manchego I should order at the cheese counter.

So, I figured I'd never get a haircut. Let my hair grow long, you know because I haven't in a while. Yeah that's it, I want my hair to be long, necessitate more shampoo, and require tools like a comb or a brush to maintain it.

Then we started setting up meetings with prospective English students, who seem to mostly be middle-aged women, and I started getting insecure about my appearance. My hair isn't super straight and flat, or thick and curly. It's worse -- it fluctuates (unpredictably) between kinda wavy and not-so-wavy. I started worrying that my blah hair would drive people away. Plus I don't have a comb.

So I set out to find a walk-in friendly peluquería that would satisfy my haircut impulse. While the story is one of success, I must admit it was...peculiar.

As I walked in, the first thing I asked the young gentleman who greeted me was, "Do I need an appointment?" As soon as I heard "no" I joined the five old ladies in the waiting area. Before going in, I was hoping to find a picture in a magazine or something so that I wouldn't have to scrounge up non-existent vocab in my brain for describing the hairstyle I had in mind. 

I grabbed a magazine and stood around browsing celebrity hair pics, until one of the old ladies started telling me a story. I'm not sure what it was about, but I know it was a story because her tone was affirmative, rather than inquisitive. Grateful that she was not expecting a real response, I just shook my head up and down and smiled when she finished. She seemed content with that reaction, as was I.

Finally, another young gentleman came over and said I could join the ready-to-wash club over at the sinks. I asked if I could bring my magazine, in which I found a decent hairstyle, and he said of course. So then I was sitting in a row with some other old ladies. One nudged me and asked me if it was raining outside, and I looked and shook my head saying, "I think it's just cloudy." She agreed and went back to her magazine. I started to wish that I could go to the pelu everyday without paying money, or even getting a haircut, just to chat with these old ladies. Not that I find them particularly interesting, or even that I can understand most of what they say, but it seems like a place where people just start talking to one another because they've been waiting so long.

Then it was my turn to have my hair washed, and boy did I get more than that. I'm not sure if this is commonplace in Spain, but the hair-wash that I got in Pamplona was more like a head-wash. Foamy lather was down my neck and in my ears. Afterward, the guy wrapped my head in a thin towel, and my earrings dripped on my collar while I waited for my stylist.

She was cute and short, with a Monroe piercing and a baby bump. When she asked what I wanted, I pointed to the picture I'd been clutching for an hour and she rattled off what she was going to do, pointing to different parts of my head, and I just said yes to everything. We were getting along fine until she asked me a question, gesturing to the razor scissors she was using to trim my sideburns. Now, I thought, she's either asking me whether she's hurting me or whether I've used that tool before. It was so obviously the former, but instead I just laughed nervously, saying I didn't understand. She laughed, too, asking the question again slowly. "No, it's not hurting me," I said, embarrassed.

So then she had to ask where I was from. I explained that I had just moved here from the US, and although I did know Spanish, I wasn't too familiar with terms related to haircuts or hairstyles. She understood. After that, she spoke in slow, simple sentences, which was helpful but also reminded me of my blunders. While cutting my hair, she also noted my remolinos (cowlicks), and I explained what we call them in English and why. She thought that was funny.

Although I entered the salon with caution, I left feeling pretty good. My stylist was very nice, and she did a great job. I certainly wasn't afraid to take this picture.

So I'm conquering my Spanish anxieties one by one. They tell you traveling is all about leaving your comfort zone. While I think that is true, I also think, for me especially, it is about humility. I'm the weirdo, here. I make the mistakes. I don't belong. I bring unwanted attention to myself every time I open my mouth. But I'm getting used to it.

Transmitimos de Pamplona a los Estados Unidos

Broadcasting from Pamplona, Spain to the United States...

We've arrived. Oh, have we ever!

Finishing up our first week in a foreign land, I have these major updates:

1. We have a place to live! We've been staying with Elliot's roommates (circa 2008) in an apartment in a neighborhood called Ensanche, off of the main drag Carlos III Avenue. Although they are great guys -- very welcoming and funny -- we are branching out. We came here to live Spanish lives, and that we will once we move into an apartment with our new friend via the interweb, Victor! He lives on the very top floor of an old five-story building divided into 10 apartments or so; and it is situated almost exactly in the center of the city -- right in front of City Hall. The rent for our room is cheap, Victor is muy majo (very cool) and he's got a puppy named Punset!

Our approximate view of el ayuntamiento (City Hall) from the front door
of the apartment building via viajeteca.com

2. We have contact with our first student! A couple days ago, Elliot and I taped flyers onto various poles, abandoned storefronts, and bulletin boards to advertise our English-teaching services. We had our first bite last night when a guy emailed us looking for more information. Elliot and he are currently attempting to arrange a first consultation. How exciting! Besides this, Elliot has been earning euros on the street as a professional minstrel, playing tunes by Neil Young, Bobby D, and Steve Miller Band.

A scan of our flyer for English teaching -- yeah I wish I had a photo of Elliot busking, too. 

3. We have bicicletas! Having a bicycle really opens the world up, especially when you're new to a city. I learned every nook and cranny of Philadelphia via bici and I intend to do the same in Pamplona. Elliot scored a vintage steel road bike equipped with Shimano 105, and I invested in an aluminum-frame hybrid with fenders, a rack, and a dynamo front hub. The guys who own the store are two basque brothers; they were very friendly, and just kept giving us discounts as we bought more things. Makes me miss working in a bike store.

Elliot's sweet ride leaning up against the clothes-drying rack. Take note of the sweet colors.

La bici mía -- still tryna name her, let me know if you think of a good one.

4. Elliot and I are still in love! Even after the stress of not living in our own space for the past 4 months, traveling nearly 24 hours straight, having practically zero friends in the city to which we moved, and spending more money than we've made, we've stuck it out. We aren't the kind to shout from the mountaintops, but this was a big step in both our lives and our relationship and I think it serves to say that we're good at being together.


Now for some not-so-important updates, but still fun-to-hear-about facts...

The best thing I've eaten thus far: 
I will divide this category into two sub-topics -- sweet and savory. The best sweet dish I've had, and will continue to seek out, was what the Spanish call a bomba. It is basically two halves of a bun, sprinkled in powdered sugar, with a rich, delectable, whipped cream stuffed between them. Fuckin' outta this world bomba! Goes great with beer.

Better than donuts for sure via amarenas.blogspot.com

The best savory dish I've had was a pintxo -- most of Spain would consider this kind of dish a tapa, but the basque country calls them pintxos -- an appetizer-like plate that usually contains a baguette slice topped with cheese, ham, calimari, egg, salad, etc. A few days ago I tried a pintxo with pancetta (Spanish bacon) and melted brie cheese. Also goes great with beer.

Un bar de pintxos via visitalltheworld.com

The worst thing I've eaten thus far:
Plain and simple -- Spain's version of delivery pizza blows. Elliot and I happened to stop by a Telepizza on a Tuesday night (when they have half-off specials) and even then it was barely worth it for a medium four-cheese pie.

The good news is they're hiring -- so Telepizza is plan B.

How Elliot and I have been passing the time:
We usually have a lot of down time before and after the siesta, which occurs from about 2 to 5 pm. Before the siesta, we probably make some breakfast, hang up some flyers, go for a walk, or watch a little Spanish cable TV. And after the siesta, I'll try my hand at being a writer-for-pay (i.e. writing and submitting drafts to various travel websites) while Elliot busks on a busy street for a couple hours. Keep in mind, this is not how all Spaniards live. Right now, we are just bums trying to find work. But I must say that the siesta allows for much relaxation, as most businesses close their doors during that time of day.

The most embarrassing thing I've done:
The other day I was shopping around for a few things, including a charger for rechargeable batteries. The background for this search involves my camera that requires AA batteries, and me not wanting to buy and throw away batteries all the time. So, I enter an electronics store, looking for this cargador (charger). I notice that they are behind the register, so I explain to the cashier what I need.

"Busco un cagador para pilas."

Translation: I'm looking for a shitter for batteries.

You see, I meant cargador but instead I said cagador so I got a weird look before I corrected myself and proceeded to buy the charger (which was way cheaper than the first place I stopped, so it was still a positive interaction for me).

Something I'm still getting used to:
The double cheek kiss! You've seen it in movies I'm sure. And I usually know it's coming. But some people don't do it upon first meeting, for whatever reason. So when I shake someone's hand, I lean in slightly, awkwardly, and wait until they do the same. And even if they do, I am still surprised. I hope I'm not giving anyone a bad impression. It's just something I'm not good at.

Non-human things I miss:
Along with ginger ale, hamburgers, my (other) bikes, and carrying around more bills than coins, I also miss a little puppy named Pedro! Not to say my parents' other dog Amos or my cat Abby don't matter as much, but I'm constantly reminded of Pedro. What with his latin-influenced name and his likeness to the donkey in the Shrek movies (which I've been watching -- in Spanish).

Like Pedro, the donkey has a long body, floppy ears, and just loves too much.

To remind you readers, I'm hoping to use this blog as both a travel journal, and as a log for loved ones to keep track of our expedition. While I hope to update with posts about differences between Spain and the US, comments concerning the European crisis, or discoveries as an English teacher abroad, I also welcome friends and family to use this blog as a venue for your own questions about the Pamplona, Spain, the trip, our experiences, whatever. Even though I'd love to sit down and Skype with every one of you, our busy lives may not allow us that chance. So ask away!