Giving Madrid a second chance

My first trip to Madrid wasn't necessarily unpleasant...just not ideal. To start, I was there with my teachers. I mean, they were pretty cool teachers, but a school trip just ain't as wild and free. We were there for the first three days of our 17-day Spain-wide vacation.

I got to see many of the touristy sites:

-Parque del Buen Retiro
-Museo del Prado
-Palacio Real
-etc.

Really, I only missed one thing I was excited to see: Guernica. We were on our way to see it in the Museo Reina Sofia. We took the metro, as we had many times. It was tightly packed, so a relief to get off. It was on our walk from the metro stop to the museum that I realized I didn't have my passport. In fact, I didn't have my debit card, license, or the 100 euros I had just taken out of the bank. I burst into tears immediately.

A relevant aside: Before going on this trip, I had purchased one of those beige strap-on pocket things to carry my cash and passport under my clothes. After all, our teachers had done a good job warning us of the European pick-pocket. Unfortunately, those pocket things are downright uncomfortable, and after only a couple days' use, I just threw it in my purse to use as a sort of wallet. My big mistake was putting both hands up to hold on in the metro car, subsequently leaving the mouth of my purse open and vulnerable. Everything was in a perfectly convenient and accessible beige pouch.

The rest of my stay in Madrid consisted of a panicky phone call to my parents, a visit to a police station,  a trip to the U.S. embassy in Madrid (that could have been worse), and a train ride with one of the teachers to catch up with the others, as they had moved onto the next city.

Like I said, not an ideal trip to Madrid. Since then, however, I've lived in a slightly smaller city for 4 years and traveled to other big cities. This time, I was going to enter Madrid with a new, more suspicious, albeit less intimidated, mindset.

And it was delightful. I wasn't robbed, and I didn't do anything touristy. Well, I guess I should say I didn't pay to do anything touristy. (I did take pictures and go to the Plaza Mayor and Puerta del Sol.) We spent most of our time with friends from Pamplona and a friend living in Madrid, going to dive bars that played rock music and eating fried calamari sandwiches (way better than it sounds!). Instead of seeing the awful, crowded, and dangerous side of Madrid, I was seeing the bohemian artsy scene -- a welcome change!

I have no awesome story for this picture. It is what it is. A bunch of locks.

Sitting outside of a bar in a neighborhood called Lavapies.

We stumbled upon a place that sold mainly American snacks, candy, and soda. Really weird.

Taken during our afternoon sit in the Plaza del Dos de Mayo, after some terrible Spanish pizza.

I had been avoiding any kind of ethnic or non-Spanish food in Spain, because it's never very good.
But in Madrid, we tried our luck at a Japanese restaurant, and it was delicious. Great miso soup!

After hearing us poo-poo on Spanish beer, the friend we were staying with recommended this place
called El Pedal (literally, The Pedal). They specialized in bike culture and craft beer (sound
familiar?). I got to sample a Cataluñan imperial ale, which was quite contrary to my original
impression of Spanish beer. Then again, Cataluña ain't Spain.

I guess you just can't write off a place because you got robbed there. After all, it was my guiri-ness (guiri is Spanish slang for tourist) that provoked the incident in the first place.

Have y'all ever conquered the fear of returning to a place, only to find out it ain't so bad?

Bob Dylan in Spain

I was surprised when Elliot told me a few months ago that some Bob Dylan fan group wanted him to play at their annual celebration of Bob Dylan. He was playing on the street when a guy from this group asked him to come eat, drink, and play music -- probably playing a Bob Dylan song.

Elliot playing on the street in front of Paris 365 during San Fermín.

I'll say his name a fourth time: I just can't believe Bob Dylan has become an even larger part of my life. When I say this, I mean that I got into Dylan when I was young, and although I'm still fascinated by his lyricism and lifestyle, I don't expect this sentiment to grow. (Although I did kind of rediscover the album Desire this past fall.)

This group of Dylan heads, however, has let their love flourish for the guy. Many of them have seen him in concert 10 or more times. Some of them have taken Dylan-related trips to the US (specifically to New York City). They know every album, song, tour. Bona-fide, Pamplonian Bob Dylan fans.

A dedicated fan of the Dylan tribute band: Desolation Band. Check 'em out!

Anyway, Elliot's in a Bob Dylan tribute band now, and they're, well, somewhat successful. They've just started, but their first few concerts have been well-received, by friends and non-friends.

Desolation Band playing at Boulevard Jazz in Pamplona last Saturday.

Spaniards, and I guess you could say Europeans in general, love American and English classic/folk rock. Totally not uncommon to see people jammin' to a CCR hit, singing "Wonchou take a rride on de flyin' espoon!"

Kinda funny, ain't it?

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?

Cycling in Pamplona (aka I'm never satisfied)

While I've only been here for 10 weeks, I jumped back on the bike pretty quickly. Within a week of our arrival, Elliot and I had purchased some wheels. A few days later, I was rolling all over this town to parts near and far to meet and teach students. Currently, my weekly commute is approximately 57 kilometers (35 miles-ish). So, I think I have a good idea of what biking in Pamplona is like -- at the very least, I have a better idea than most people I know here (most of whom walk rather than ride). And I gotta say, Europe may have the better rep as far as competitive/recreational cycling goes, but I would take Philly commuting any day.

A view of Pamplona from about 6 km out (little less than 4 miles).

I should clarify something first: Pamplona, like many cities (big and small) throughout Europe, has a very tangible cycling infrastructure. At first glance, the system looks way better than anything you've seen in the US, mainly because of the abundance of bike paths. They often run alongside the sidewalk (like many in Philly); sometimes the white lines are painted on the sidewalks (which are extra wide to accommodate pedestrians and cyclists. And they really are everywhere! And people really use them! There are even traffic lights specifically for cyclists -- lights that tell you when it's okay to cross the intersection and when it's not. There are also often short barriers between the bike paths on asphalt and the part of the street used by cars, mainly to keep drivers from driving or parking in the bike lanes. I'll say it again: Pamplona's cycling infrastructure is very visible, well-used, and widespread.

I just can't like it. As much as I scorned the haphazard system in Philly, I miss it. Although some find this to be a major fault, there wasn't really a distinct line between where bikes should go and where they shouldn't. I endured so much public shaming for riding on the sidewalk, against traffic, in the bike lane, beside the bike lane, in the grass, in front of a car, behind a car, beside a car, etc. I learned to ignore anyone in a car, and just ride as safely as I could, with a helmet securely over my skull. This usually meant taking a full lane because cars always gave me a lot of room, even when they were attempting to throw something at me.

Secret bike path that a student's mom told me about -- it's secret because I didn't know about it.

Here, however, it is very clear where bikes should be. And riders follow the rules. Probably because if you roll off the bike path, you're riding with European drivers -- who can be a little intimidating. Plus, we Americans ain't so used to roundabouts. Every street is like the Ben Franklin parkway, and every intersection like Logan Square. So riders stick to the paths, because they're well-marked and car-free. Not me, though. Following a roundabout on the pavement may be a little stressful, but following it on the sidewalk is down-right frustrating. A lot of waiting, rolling up and down handicap curbs, dodging wandering pedestrians, and more waiting. Can't take it, don't want it, won't have it. I'll follow the cars.

Sometimes, though, riding on the sidewalk ain't so bad. On longer stretches of road that leave the city, very few pedestrians can be found walking on the paths. Plus, the traffic picks up a little bit so it does feel better off to the side. But just like they heavily regulate cycling traffic, the Spaniards also like to keep the walkers in line. So there are hip-high barriers that border the lengths of sidewalk where pedestrians shouldn't cross. This makes hopping off the asphalt that much harder. And on top of that, the asphalt doesn't gradually taper off on the sides, creating a gutter for water run-off. Instead, there's a shallow but pretty sudden drop on either side of the roads (Philly: think "trolley tracks"). 

To make a long story short, Pamplona wants you to stay in one line or the other. You can't be a part of pedestrian traffic, and also vehicle traffic. Unfortunately, I think this is what most major US cities dream of when it comes to reforming cycling regulations. But I got wheels! I want riding to be smooth and efficient (i.e. not on the sidewalk). I miss the cycling limbo in Philly.

And the weirdest thing is that I'm often the only person I see in the street. Sure, I see other riders. But they're rollin' along on the paths, and I'm huffin' and puffin' to keep up with traffic (and probably because I stayed in siesta-mode a little too long before class). Why do they settle for the safer albeit slower route? Am I just another impatient American?

I have to cross this bridge once a week to get to the other side of some railroad tracks,
where my student lives. I hate the bridge but I enjoy the student, so I suppose it's worth it.

Part of me thinks that there aren't as many distance commuters as you might find in Philly. Riders in Philly use bikes for a variety of different reasons, but a major perk is commuting power. Here, most people work a few blocks from home; and if they don't, they drive or catch the bus. Furthermore, you're guaranteed to find any commercial necessities (groceries, apparel, pharmaceuticals, etc.) within a few steps of your door. Most of the people I know here are more likely to have a car they use more than their bike. Populations are very concentrated, so you're never very far from where you need to go. Thus, Spaniards don't expect much of their city's cycling infrastructure.

Then again, Pamplona must have really coughed up some dough to build the infrastructure they have now. Why not a better one? Or, am I really just another impatient American?

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.