Writer Stones' last waltz

Maybe you guessed it already, but I haven't written in a while because my travels have since ceased. For now anyway. We've settled in Pittsburgh, a place close to home, to work, live, and save up money for the next big move in our lives. Where that'll be, I can't say.

I would be lying, though, if I said we weren't going to travel anymore. For money and convenience's sake, this will be the year of America...or maybe just the year of the rust belt. Either way, I won't be using my passport for a while, I won't be away from home for months at a time, and I'll be using English 99% of the time. Thus, Writer Stones comes to an end, as it represented transience in my life that no longer exists.

I would also be lying, however, if I said I was going to stop writing. I'm going to try to get a Pittsburgh blog going pretty soon. Maybe do some creative writing and/or publishing now that I have a solid home base to work out of. I am working full time, so these projects may come slowly, but I have ideas and all it takes is a lazy weekend to make some headway.

Ciao, y'all. It's been fun.

Hemos vuelto, pero no para siempre

Ya llevamos casi tres meses en la patria, lo que significa tres meses fuera de Pamplona, fuera de Euskal Herria, fuera de España. Esta entrada será para los que hemos dejado allí, los con que hemos compartido unas experiencias inolvidables. En esta entrada veréis como vivimos en Pensilvania (que no tiene ningún vampiro, que yo sepa).

10 Octubre 2012: Llegamos en Filadelfia sin problema. (Bueno, solo hubo problema en el lado americano. El agente estadounidense dudaba la foto de Elliot en su pasaporte. Le preguntaba varias cosas anodinas. Una molestia.) Pero salimos con buenas relaciones con el gobierno español. Les sorprendimos a unos amigos que no nos esperaban. Y seguía la borrachera que ya había durado 2 semanas con las despedidas.

Amigos y Elliot tomando en una taberna que se llama Royal Tavern, ubicada en Passyunk Avenue.

Nos echaron de un bar en el centro a las 2...lo podéis creer?!

El ayuntamiento de Filadelfia, el edificio de albañilería más alto del mundo. 

En el sur de la ciudad, la calle donde vivía yo hace más que 4 años.

El metro de Filadelfia (SEPTA). No es tan conveniente como lo de Barca.

Este pan se llama "bagel" (bei-gul); tiene semillas de sesamo encima, y espinacas, queso Filiadelfia
y pimientos piquillos adentro. Se sirve este "Bike Shop Bagel" en Satellite Café en el oeste de Fili. 

13 Octubre 2012: Llegamos en el pueblo, Greensburg (gríns-burg), donde viven los padres. Seguro que nos habéis oido hablando de la pizza de Greensburg, la que es de la mejor que hemos probado en el mundo. Un pueblo de casi 15.000, el GBG es un sitio tranquilo con una subcultura de arte y medicina homeopática.

Vista del centro del pueblo, desde la calle de los padres Swauger. Y un camión de correos.

Seguro que unos han visto el tatuaje en las costillas de Elliot, lo que tiene una imagen del 

tribunal de Greensburg (se ve en la parte derecha).

El campo de fútbol americano para los futboleros de colegio y de universidad Está en el centro.

Third Street. Estoy sentada en un banco fuera del edificio de seguridad
social. Por arriba está la oficina de correos y la biblioteca.

31 Octubre 2012: Celebramos Halloween. La familia de Elliot y yo nos vestimos como los personajes de la peli "Wizard of Oz". A ver si os suenan los disfraces...

4 Noviembre 2012: Elliot votó por la primera vez. Desafortunadamente, su candidato preferido no ganó.

13 Noviembre 2012: Elliot y yo firmamos un contrato para una casa en Pittsburgh. Que nos visitéis!

21 Noviembre 2012: Conseguí un trabajo que no es enseñar inglés. Empezaré en enero como ayudante administrativa en el único centro de partera en Pittsburgh.

Las cosas que me costaron en acostumbrarme: tomar vasos tan grandes de cerveza, no comer queso de oveja con regularidad, conducir por todas partes

Las cosas estereotípicas que he hecho: comer mucha pizza, comer muchas hamburguesas, comer muchas alitas de pollo, comer muchas papas fritas (bueno, comer mucho en general)

Ya empieza un capítulo nuevo, pero tenemos otro hogar en Pamplona. Gracias a todos que conocimos, por vuestra amistad, bondad y hospitalidad. Claro que vamos a volver.

Investing in a temporary home

When Elliot and I first got here, within the first 2 weeks, we had spent somewhere around $2000.

We knew we were going to buy bikes, so that $600 expense was expected. But then I saw some front/rear panniers that I liked. And for safety's sake, we had to buy locks and helmets. That all racked up another $200.

When we found a place to live, we anticipated paying the rent up front. So we shelled out $400 for January. Oh, but then there was last month's rent, too. And some compensation for the 10 days remaining in December at the time. So our first rent payment was more like $900.

On our first night in the new place, we shivered in our thin little sleeping bags, as the winter air rolled off the Pyrenees right through our old, drafty windows. It was time to get some bedding. This also proved to be very expensive as we had to buy the largest comforter Spain had to offer; another $250 with sheets.

Shit, that's only $1950. Oh wait, yeah, there were the English textbooks, the rosemary and thyme plants, the pay-as-you-go cell phones, a few pieces of furniture, and some big gourmet Navarran meals. I guess I underestimated after all.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that moving is expensive, especially when you can't bring the things you already have on the airplane with you. Of course, there are necessities: shelter, transportation, food. What's really hard is paying money for things you don't really need; rather, things that just make you feel better, more comfortable. When your home is transient, minimalism is key.

But I'm not trying to live out of a suitcase. I like putting shit out on display: postcards, pictures, Kinder egg surprises. I like being surrounded by objects, colors, and smells that make me feel at home.

And the kitchen! It's hard to tolerate a less-than-ideal kitchen: without pot holders, without a good knife, without bowls, without storage space. Sure, I could make do with what's here. But then I'm living differently than I would naturally.

Little by little, I'm investing in this place, even if I'll only be here a year. In the end, I can bring some things home: panniers, paring knife, maybe even some bike parts. But most of it I'll give away, or leave for the next inhabitant to use. Although I'm conflicted about some of the purchases I've made, I'm more comfortable here now than I was in the beginning.

BEFORE

AFTER

As I said before, the kitchen is important to me. Adding some orange color while keeping the unavoidable fluorescent lighting helped energize this room a bit (i.e. less hospital-like). Also, what you don't see is that I scrubbed the awful grease stains off the wall and ceiling, and also sealed the gap between the counter and tile to avoid mold growth. Workin' woman I am!

BEFORE

AFTER

I never realized how important a table was to me until I lived four months without one. We used to eat at the tiny counter in the kitchen or in front of the TV. Now I don't feel so embarrassed about inviting people over for dinner. In fact, we're thinking of starting a cards night.

Adding some color and decorations (home-made masks by roomie) and arranging a common bookshelf complete with knickknacks has made this room functional and comfortable, whereas it used to just be, well, the entryway.

BEFORE

AFTER

Again, color can change everything. And all this paint was paid for by the landlord (woo!).

BEFORE

AFTER

We decided not to paint our room, but I did move some furniture around to open it up a little bit. Handywoman Sarah also fixed the armoire on the right that was causing us so much trouble (the back panel had fallen off and so the sides would bow out causing the shelves and our clothes to fall all the time).

BEFORE

AFTER

Pow! New shower curtain, and a shelf made from an Ikea CD case, painted orange -- makes all the difference.

Maybe there were some unnecessary changes, but like I said, I don't want to live minimally. Most of these things were second-hand, and none of them will be thrown away in the end.

Of course the Metallica clock is stupid, but with one battery, it works! And now I don't have to
buy another clock.

I was just using dish rags to avoid burning myself, but these pot holders allow me to hold
something for more than 3 seconds.

When I saw the same incense holder I had in high school, I had to get it. Plus our hallway stinks
like shit all the time.

Sometimes I think it will be quite a while before I live anywhere for more than a year or two. But that shouldn't mean that my homes look less like homes, or that they function without a solid cutting board. I feel compelled to make where I live more comfortable, because I'm a homebody and I spend a lot of time...at home.

It's just that dumb minimalist sustainability nut on my shoulder that's telling me how much of an impact traveling can have as far as consumption goes. Stupid hippy.

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.

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!

Packin' up, gettin' rid of stuff - Pt. 2

Although it felt really good to see the clean, empty house in Philadelphia, I still had to confront all of the shit I owned when I returned to my parent's house in Greensburg.

It's great, though, because my dad is a lot like me when it comes to throwing things away (or I guess I should say keeping things). As I was going through my tools, for example, I would find odd nuts, bolts, hooks, and screws.

I would ask, "What is this? Could you use this?"

And he would say, "Well, I don't know. But I'll take it."

So I feel better because I didn't have to throw it away; and he will feel better in the event that he actually uses the thing that he took.

I went through a second filtering process that allowed me to purge some more belongings that I don't need; and simultaneously another sorting process that forced me to decide what I might want to see or touch in the next year or so, and what I have to forget for a while.

It's very strange to plan for spontaneity. Strategically packing boxes and suitcases so that I can come and go, quickly and easily. Suddenly, decks of playing cards, bottle openers, and sturdy socks have become very essential.

Of course, I can still hoard. Finding spaces in drawers and cupboards at my parents' house is easy. But I keep seemingly useless things because I'm sentimental about them; I like to look at them.

So, inevitably, I'm giving stuff up. For a little while.

Art work from friends and family, bric-a-brac from my yellow bookcase, my yellow bookcase, a great glass carboy for wine-making, ceramic teapots, and a lot of books & movies I never want to revisit now but I certainly will when they're 3000 miles away.

This kind of planning doesn't really leave a lot of room for a home, which supposedly has all these things that I'm packing away. While I know there will be times when I'm grateful for living out of only a couple suitcases and a backpack, I'm sure there will be other times when I feel like a lonely ex-patriate.

(For those of you who read ex-pirate, please remember and write down your first image upon finishing that sentence)

Change is a given. My parent's house doesn't look at all like where I grew up. My neighborhood in Philly will have transformed a few times in the next 10 years. And my suitcases will probably evolve, too.


3712 Brandywine by Ashley Hayes (the Aussie couchsurfer)


PS. I hope y'all don't think I'm materialistic because I talk more about the stuff I have than the people I know. I'm not getting rid of anyone -- at least not on purpose. So you'll all get your weepy goodbye eventually, especially if you buy me enough beers.

Tales from Manayunk

... or Manayunk puts the "hilly" in "Philly"
... or A fuckin' good day
... or Delayed update post


Whatever you'd like to call this post, it's about to get real.

August 7: Friends came over to celebrate leaving our house, as well as take some of our shit. To those of you who stopped by to bid your farewell and swipe a few things, I thank you. It was a delight.

August 10-11: Father and younger brother arrive to help us move out of 3712 Brandywine -- which proved to be an awful task. We were able to donate a lot of furniture, clothing, and housewares to AIDS Thrift and residents on our block. I am most grateful to the family down the street who took the organ. The curse has now been passed.

August 12-14: Elliot and I spent the weekend in Wheeling, WV with his parents to enjoy three days of their annual BluesFest. I can now say I've experienced 27 cumulative hours of the blues, as well as some new thoughts about age, race, and gender. I also got a straw hat and a sweet wrist bracelet tan line.

August 15: Elliot and I hightail it back to Philly around midnight, approximately 1.5 hours after the last Blues Fest band to beat the garbage truck so we could finally get rid of this busted and moldy futon in our basement. That was five hours of too much coffee, Gardettos, and lots of music to which we could sing along (The Killers, RATM, Silversun Pickups, etc). We successfully stayed awake to finish cleaning the house and leave for good.

August 16-19: The worst first week we could have had for our longer commute from Yunktown. Torrential downpour, but only when we were outside! Anyway, it was fun to bike together, soaking wet and singing made up songs about the weather. Like this one...

It's fuh-king -- ray-ning
It's fuh-king -- ray-ning
It's fucking ----- raining
It's fucking ----- raining


But all of that hubbub finally brought me to TODAY! One of the best days I've had in weeks, and I was all alone. First, I woke up at 11:30. And not because I went to bed at 3, but rather because I needed 12 hours of sleep.

Then I researched some key locations to visit in Yunkersville.

Map of Yunkshire; come visit sometime.

I went to the Chop Shop, a cheap chain salon, because I left my clippers packed up at my parent's house. I appreciated the hair dresser's honesty when she told me, in so many words, that I did a shitty job of cutting my own hair. Now my hair has texture, like a stucco wall or some really coarse sandpaper.

Then I ventured to the Weaver's Way Co-op storefront on Carpenter Lane, where I bought some food and marveled at the intersection where the market was located. A food co-op, "green" dry-cleaner, trendy cafe, and bookstore -- all at the same intersection. This led to a lot of thinking which now leads to a story within a story:

Pennsylvania Ave. in Greensburg, PA via jmd41280

This kind of neighborhood makes me think of Pennsylvania Ave. in Greensburg because of the great assortment of shops. Independent businesses are wonderful not only because you can shake hands with the owners, but also because they demonstrate the needs of an area. I appreciate these kinds of intersections because it sort of illustrates the people who live there.


However, the automobile makes neighborhoods like these accessible for those who don't live there; which can also prevent the development of similar intersections in areas that need them. That's why I had to bike 3 miles to get to Weaver's Way. And why most of the people I saw in these shops were white. Not to say that white people don't live in Mt. Airy, Manayunk, or Roxborough, but these areas also have an equal if not greater black population. Thus these intersections are not so accessible for some. 


And they cater to awful people who talk very loudly and explain to their granddaughters that they want to add red peppers to a recipe "for some color" and make pretentious book suggestions to other customers and shove me aside without saying excuse me. But I won't hold this against the co-op.


This all culminated in my decision to write down what my perfect settling place would include, but that's for another entry -- and possibly even another planet.


After that trip, I did some laundry down the street at a self-serve place called the Wissahickon Washaus. No one was there but some security cameras, and that was fine as I read my book from the library.

Finally bought a six-pack at a pub down the street and made a place on the side porch (a real-live porch!) with some cheese and crackers to write this blog for y'all.

I very much enjoyed my day in Manayunk today. Exploring is great. Still can't believe this whole other world resides in the city I've been living in for four years. Now I know how they fit over five million people in this place.

Philadelphia, man. Dig it.

Packin' up, gettin' rid of stuff - Pt. 1

When I was younger -- maybe seven or eight because I was old enough to take on some chores but too young to really see the point -- I would take a long time to clean my room. Once you couldn't see the floor anymore, my parents would give me the ultimatum: clean it up or we throw it away. Sometimes, to add dramatic effect, my dad would even come in with a large, black garbage bag and start rifling through my stuff. He used this tactic to speed up the process because I would take forever.

Mainly because I spent a lot of time looking at and playing with the things I was supposed to be putting away. I'd start in one corner of the room, find something I hadn't seen in a while, and then make a day of it. Maybe I'd rearrange my dollhouse, put all of my Polly Pockets in a row, or make a new city out of Legos.

When I got older -- maybe twelve or thirteen because I was young enough to still have to clean my room but too old to have many toys -- my procrastination was fueled by long-lost diary entries or old stories that I had to revisit and reflect upon. This would usually turn into me pulling more things out of the depths of my closet, rather than putting them away.

Thus, packing up my 22-year-old life proves no different. Plus I'm a pack-rat. So I still have those diaries and short stories. Only now they sit under new short stories,

poems,
research papers,
newspaper articles,
letters,
ticket stubs,
fortune cookie fortunes,
old cell phones,
class notes,
birthday cards,
pictures,
and even old, empty packets of birth control pills.

I like to think that everything has a memory attached to it. But most of this shit has just become something that invokes the same memory: "Oh, that happened."

So I'm trying to force myself to have higher standards regarding what I choose to keep. I'm also trying to let myself just have memories instead of evidence.

There are still going to be a lot of unnecessary things that I pack up and take with me when I leave Philly. But the number of boxes is getting smaller.

And looking at things while I pack them up is still fun. Here are some past-life pictures for y'all to enjoy:

That's me in 5th grade, eating my government-provided lunch. To my right is my best friend from elementary and middle school. She died last October; so I mourn moments like this.

That's me in 7th grade. Playin' ball.

I'm the 16-year-old sitting on the ground to the left. This was my first time ever on any coast -- Wildwood, NJ. We were there as a girl scout troop, part of a larger camping trip at the shore. My mom is the lady in the white sweatshirt behind me to my right. My troop leader is the woman on the right side of the picture wearing a fisherman's hat and a green t-shirt. She died last August; but I am glad that I got to tell her how much she meant to me years before.

Still at the shore -- this time in Cape May, NJ. For about a year, I really loved wearing this purple fedora.

Our first trip to Spain in high school. That's 18-year-old Elliot standing in front of a windmill in Castilla-La Mancha.

That's me, looking larger than life.

Note the bicycle tube belt.

I put up a few of these because I don't think I've seen them since we went to Spain in 2007. Makes me psyched to return in a few months.