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.

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.

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.

Eating ecologically in Pamplona

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Going underground

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Philadippy

"Have you ever seen so many hippies in one room?" my father asked in reference to me and my friends at my graduation party earlier this year.

My guess is that his main indicators for this kind of labeling were as follows:

- hair (long, dreads, beards)

- smell (some BO, maybe a little tea tree)

- clothes (second-hand, worn out sneakers)

I think that when I was 15 and I bought a long skirt and started listening to Bob Dylan, my dad decided I was a hippie. Even now when I dress either like a 13-year-old boy or a 90's mom, I'm pretty sure he'd hold his ground. After all, my legs and pits are hairy, I follow a veggie lifestyle, and I still listen to Bob Dylan.

In high school, I'd say I was a wannabe hippie.

The skirt, the

clogs, the

music, the

herb, and the

diet.

But one thing I didn't really have was the attitude. Sure I wanted peace, love, and harmony, but wasn't ready to fight for it, or sing about it. 

I went to all the drum circles, but was usually bored the whole time.

Guy Wathen/Tribune-Review (Greensburg, PA)

That's probably why this phase didn't really last all that long. And Philly isn't really any kind of mecca for hippies. So my skirt was doomed from the start, I guess.

Yet, when I moved here, I never really noticed the lack of hippies.

Until a couple weeks ago. My roommates attended a drum circle (hadn't heard that in a long time) deep in the belly of Fairmount Park. They said there must have been 100 people or so participating.

Holy shit. Where did all these hippies come from?

I started thinking about Philly neighborhoods and where these hippies could be hiding. I've seen dreads, vegans, and yogis all over this city, but not too many I would consider reminiscent of my Western PA teenage upbringing. And I live in West Philly.

One interwebber made a good point on this forum discussing hippie communities in the greater Philadelphia area:

I like to think that folks on this coast are rather impatient with the left coast, identity politics, "check me out, look how far out I am" crowd. 

It doesn't mean we don't ride bikes, drink organic soymilk, eat granola and drive cars that run on fryer grease . . . we just don't wear it on our sleeves. 

You'll find most of what you're looking in West Philly but it's certainly not a hippy aesthetic. Lots of anarchist enterprises in the neighborhood to include a food co-op, tool share, cafe, bar, a land trust and a book store off of South St.

Ok, so you might ride bikes and go to independent bookstores. But that still doesn't make you a hippie in the sense that I know hippies...

When I was 18, I sat in the attic of a house in rural Western PA with approximately 10 other people, mostly older than me, for a drum circle that went until approximately 6:00 AM. 

The house was pretty small -- just a kitchen, bathroom and a large, lofty bedroom that the couple and their daughter shared. They also had a vegetable patch, which at this point was dead and frigid because it was February. The couple planned to homeschool their young daughter, as this mission against government-funded indoctrination was written all over their kitchen cupboards. 

I was ready to leave after about an hour but had to wait for my ride home. There were drums, shakers, space cookies, reiki massages, and a dog. I fell asleep for a while with the dog on the floor. 

That was it, man. That was a hippie household. Off the grid. Truly anti-establishment. But solidly working for peaceful coexistence. And I was fuckin' bored.

So I'm thinking that the huge crowd in Fairmount Park that meet regularly for mega drum circles are not like the hippies I met in my hometown.

I mean, wouldn't living in the big city with a hippie philosophy wear you down? It's a fast-paced, heavily polluted lifestyle that doesn't really mesh with free love.

Or does the city just make you adapt? And if so, are you a still a hippie?

PS. The church linked above ultimately won the zoning battle, but lost the drug war.