We were barely two weeks into our new lives in Spain, but we already had appointments with prospective students and even more calling. Elliot answered the call from Liliana, but handed the phone to me as she expressed interest in classes for her two sons, ages 14 and 19. We had decided that I would teach the younger learners; and I felt more comfortable with kids. It was still difficult for me to talk on the phone, so I tried to keep the conversation short. With the air of an experienced babysitter, and perhaps a hint of arrogance, I was on my bike to their apartment the next morning.
Liliana buzzed me into the building and greeted me at the door with a baby on her hip.
"Hola, ¿como estás?" I said, trying to make small talk while I looked for a place to put down my helmet and my bag. It had been raining, so I apologized for dripping everywhere. She smiled at me revealing two silver front teeth.
"Somos de Perú," she said, adding that her sons had only been in Spain for four years. Each had some language training, but they hadn't really retained anything. And it turned out that the baby on her hip was her nephew; his father was also living in the apartment.
After meeting the boys briefly, and talking more with their mother about what kind of class they would prefer, we started discussing price. Elliot and I have a sliding scale rate of 10€ to 15€ per hour for our classes, depending on how much preparation we have to do outside of the class. These boys already had textbooks, so Liliana and I figured not much more would be needed. I settled, then, at 10€ per hour. She wanted two hours a week for each of them, so I left thinking I had done right by this family, and I had added 40€ to our weekly income.
My first class with the older teen was just a few days later. I found their place a little easier this time, so I arrived a few minutes early. It was one of the boys who buzzed me up this time, but the mother still greeted me at the door. A few words into our small talk and I realized she was saying something more than hello, how are you. There was a problem with the price.
Suddenly, I felt like she was speaking very quickly. She wanted me to lower the price, that much was clear. She had spoken to other people who said they've heard of teachers charging less. She wanted to pay 35€ instead of 40€.
I tried to explain that the rate I charged was for my time and experience, that Elliot and I were partners and we decided on a minimum rate of 10€ per hour. After all, we had read that most teachers charged a minimum of 15€ per hour. I felt like we were already giving her a deal. No one else had disputed price before. Why did I have to sell myself to her for five more euros?
I gave into her discounted price at first, because I was already there to teach a class, and I wanted to avoid any further confrontation. So I taught the class, all the while thinking anxiously about what had just happened. By the time two hours had passed, I had decided to talk about it later with Elliot. If he thought it was too little, I would call Liliana and explain that we couldn't accommodate her situation. At this point, I definitely preferred talking to her on the phone rather than to her face.
Once we finished, she came back into the living room with a 50€ bill. I was confused again.
"Lo siento, igual no te he entendido." I felt like an amateur. Dumb. Maybe even crazy. And she seemed a little frustrated. Why wasn't I getting this?
I thought she wanted to pay 35€ per week for two classes, each two hours long. But she thought I expected that price for each class, thus amounting to 70€ per week. Ah, what a great misunderstanding! I was so glad to tell her I didn't expect to earn nearly as much as she thought. I couldn't stop smiling, anticipating that this weird tension would evaporate. We both laughed, me nervously and her somewhat skeptically, but I left feeling better.
The weird tension didn't really go away, though. I realized over the next few weeks that these boys didn't know a whole lot. Each of them had important exams within the month, so we just had to hit the books to cover as much material as possible. And the books sucked. These kids relied heavily on dictionaries and internet translations, which made conversation nearly impossible. Let's just say it's a good thing I spoke Spanish; otherwise the classes may have crashed and burned.
Plus I was feeling a lot of pressure from their mother. Every week she would ask me how they were doing, if they were advancing. I was hesitant to say yes, because they weren't. But how could I say no -- we had only been working together for a few weeks.
When the exams were approaching, I started to wonder what our classes could be like afterward. I could design my own lesson plans, teach at a more appropriate pace, and maybe even get these boys to enjoy the classes! There was a catch, however. In order for me to do this comfortably, I would have to ask for a little more money. But I felt like money was what had made this relationship weird in the first place.
Biking to their apartment one day, I rehearsed the conversation in my head. At the end of that class, I asked to speak with her. I kept my speech tempo up, to get in as much as possible before she could interrupt. I tried to remain open by making these more formal classes seem like just another option. But at the same time, I emphasized that the books alone don't do a great job of explaining and elaborating certain topics.
She seemed interested, but she still continued to ask why I would want five euros more per class. Sure, I wanted to say, it's only five euros more. But maybe she was thinking that's 20 more per month. So I stood there, and sold myself again. Well, I explained, I have to prepare these extra materials outside of class, and this takes time. She understood, and conceded.
But it just seemed so reluctant. Of course I expected her teenage sons to be a little resistant, but not her. I didn't want her to think that I was teaching classes purely for monetary gain, and at the same time I could not trivialize my own work ethic.
I'm proud of myself, because I've never asked for a raise before. I didn't think I would feel so conflicted afterward, though.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
It ain't no Jeopardy, that's for sure
We've found a great, new, edgy way to learn Spanish. Instead of attending a class, or investing in Muzzy, just follow the several entertaining game shows that air in Spain every single day.
Pros: You broaden your vocabulary through random trivia questions (about both Spanish and non-Spanish people or things), you witness useless and annoying banter between the hosts and contestants, and even if you don't follow a word you can at the very least determine who has won and who hasn't simply by looking for frowns vs. smiles!
Cons: Native Spaniards think you're kind of strange for knowing so much about game shows!
1. ¡Ahora Caigo! (American version is called "Who's Still Standing?")
The set-up of this show consists of one contestant and 10 "opponents" who go back and forth answering trivia questions about anything from pop culture to literature to other game shows. If the contestant doesn't know a question, she has three passes to her opponent to avoid losing. If the opponent misses a question, however, she gets a big "aww" from the audience and then falls through a trapdoor underneath her feet. This same fate can fall upon the contestant if she uses all of her passes. So now I'm sure you can imagine the russian roulette ambience this game show has! Each opponent is worth a certain amount of euros to the contestant (1€ to 5,000€), so as she beats more of them, she wins more money. If she beats all of them she gets the ultimate prize of 100,000€. On the weekends, the prize is 200,000€ and opponents are worth even more. Sometimes contestants leave with only some of their winnings, as they're hesitant to go on and lose everything. And sometimes you get to see the host do an awful horse impression!
2. Atrapa un millón (American version is called "Million Dollar Money Drop")
This show is just two contestants answering 8 different questions, each with four possible answers. Sometimes the contestants are two friends or family members, and sometimes the contestant is hooked up with a random celebrity. Whatever their relation, contestants work together to strategically gamble their original quantity of 200,000€ as they answer each question. For example, if two of the answers seem very plausible to the contestants, and they can't decide which to go for, they can divide up their remaining cash (literally bundles of 5,000€) to ensure that they move on to the next level. Whatever money they put on the incorrect answers falls through a trapdoor and into a large container. Most contestants only end up with 15,000€ or less by the end of the game, but that's still something to write home about.
3. Uno para ganar (no American version available, but literally translated as "One to Win")
Now this show separates itself from the others by involving much less knowledge, but a lot more grace, swiftness, and patience. Contestants must complete somewhat useless tasks with various household objects, within 60 seconds mind you, in order to move through each of the ten rounds, each time with more money at stake. The "one" in the name means "one minute" to win. The tasks start out easy -- maybe something like taking 120 tissues out of a tissue box one at a time with only one hand -- and they get harder -- we have yet to see anyone successfully stack three golfballs on top of each other. If the contestant beats every level, which has yet to happen, they win 500,000€. Some people are crazy about this show, especially the contestants. Most of them have seen every episode, and thus every challenge possible. In fact, there is an inventory of the tasks on Wikipedia. My favorite has to be the one that has the contestant wear a pedometer strapped around their head; within 60 seconds, they must head-bang their heads until the pedometer reads 125 steps. Keep in mind, they can't see the pedometer themselves, and so they basically just shake their heads violently for a whole minute. Enough to make you cry -- from laughter!
4. Tu sí que vales (again, no American version, but literally translated as "You're Worth It")
Some may not consider this a game show, because it's more like a talent show, but there is a contest and there is money on the line! This show is like "American Idol" in that it involves three judges that influence the fate of the contestant, but it is better because while there are many singers, there are also pizza dough jugglers, magicians, comedians, and dancers. Talk about entertainment! Both the audience and the judges get to vote as to whether the contestant is "worth it." If there is a unanimous vote, the contestant receives 1000€ immediately. Unfortunately, there is also the typical stern and sour judge, reminiscent of Simon Cowell. He has a stupid faux-hawk, wears sunglasses inside all the time, and is only popular because people think he "tells it like it is" when in reality he just likes to say no because it increases ratings. (This reminds me of the recent season six premiere of "30 Rock" where Jenna plays this cynical judge role -- see I still watch American TV, too!)
So now you know a little bit more about Spain's trashy TV programs. Show those "Jersey Shore" looneys that you're more cultured than them!
Pros: You broaden your vocabulary through random trivia questions (about both Spanish and non-Spanish people or things), you witness useless and annoying banter between the hosts and contestants, and even if you don't follow a word you can at the very least determine who has won and who hasn't simply by looking for frowns vs. smiles!
Cons: Native Spaniards think you're kind of strange for knowing so much about game shows!
 |
| The host of "Ahora Caigo!" welcoming the audience. |
1. ¡Ahora Caigo! (American version is called "Who's Still Standing?")
The set-up of this show consists of one contestant and 10 "opponents" who go back and forth answering trivia questions about anything from pop culture to literature to other game shows. If the contestant doesn't know a question, she has three passes to her opponent to avoid losing. If the opponent misses a question, however, she gets a big "aww" from the audience and then falls through a trapdoor underneath her feet. This same fate can fall upon the contestant if she uses all of her passes. So now I'm sure you can imagine the russian roulette ambience this game show has! Each opponent is worth a certain amount of euros to the contestant (1€ to 5,000€), so as she beats more of them, she wins more money. If she beats all of them she gets the ultimate prize of 100,000€. On the weekends, the prize is 200,000€ and opponents are worth even more. Sometimes contestants leave with only some of their winnings, as they're hesitant to go on and lose everything. And sometimes you get to see the host do an awful horse impression!
 |
| This "Ahora Caigo!" contestant is trying to determine "what English term is used when a soccer player makes three goals in a game." |
2. Atrapa un millón (American version is called "Million Dollar Money Drop")
This show is just two contestants answering 8 different questions, each with four possible answers. Sometimes the contestants are two friends or family members, and sometimes the contestant is hooked up with a random celebrity. Whatever their relation, contestants work together to strategically gamble their original quantity of 200,000€ as they answer each question. For example, if two of the answers seem very plausible to the contestants, and they can't decide which to go for, they can divide up their remaining cash (literally bundles of 5,000€) to ensure that they move on to the next level. Whatever money they put on the incorrect answers falls through a trapdoor and into a large container. Most contestants only end up with 15,000€ or less by the end of the game, but that's still something to write home about.
 |
| The stage of "Atrapa un millón" -- note the big pile of cash on the right. |
3. Uno para ganar (no American version available, but literally translated as "One to Win")
Now this show separates itself from the others by involving much less knowledge, but a lot more grace, swiftness, and patience. Contestants must complete somewhat useless tasks with various household objects, within 60 seconds mind you, in order to move through each of the ten rounds, each time with more money at stake. The "one" in the name means "one minute" to win. The tasks start out easy -- maybe something like taking 120 tissues out of a tissue box one at a time with only one hand -- and they get harder -- we have yet to see anyone successfully stack three golfballs on top of each other. If the contestant beats every level, which has yet to happen, they win 500,000€. Some people are crazy about this show, especially the contestants. Most of them have seen every episode, and thus every challenge possible. In fact, there is an inventory of the tasks on Wikipedia. My favorite has to be the one that has the contestant wear a pedometer strapped around their head; within 60 seconds, they must head-bang their heads until the pedometer reads 125 steps. Keep in mind, they can't see the pedometer themselves, and so they basically just shake their heads violently for a whole minute. Enough to make you cry -- from laughter!
 |
| She may look pretty now, but all contestants look like they're being electrocuted when they do this challenge. |
4. Tu sí que vales (again, no American version, but literally translated as "You're Worth It")
Some may not consider this a game show, because it's more like a talent show, but there is a contest and there is money on the line! This show is like "American Idol" in that it involves three judges that influence the fate of the contestant, but it is better because while there are many singers, there are also pizza dough jugglers, magicians, comedians, and dancers. Talk about entertainment! Both the audience and the judges get to vote as to whether the contestant is "worth it." If there is a unanimous vote, the contestant receives 1000€ immediately. Unfortunately, there is also the typical stern and sour judge, reminiscent of Simon Cowell. He has a stupid faux-hawk, wears sunglasses inside all the time, and is only popular because people think he "tells it like it is" when in reality he just likes to say no because it increases ratings. (This reminds me of the recent season six premiere of "30 Rock" where Jenna plays this cynical judge role -- see I still watch American TV, too!)
 |
| The host, judges, and other characters on "Tu sí que vales" -- note the jackass third from the left. |
So now you know a little bit more about Spain's trashy TV programs. Show those "Jersey Shore" looneys that you're more cultured than them!
Monday, January 16, 2012
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!
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!
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Olentzero en los pueblos fuera de Pamplona
While the history of this figure goes back a long way, the more contemporary story of the Olentzero makes him out to be a portly, friendly, and modestly dressed charcoal burner who brings treats and gifts to children on the night before Christmas.
Cities and small towns alike throughout the Basque region of Spain carry out their own celebration of the Olentzero. These events usually involve people in traditional dress, candy, roasted chestnuts, as well as flute and drum playing.
With a friend, we ventured out to Pamplona's country side and participated in a multi-vehicle caravan that visited several pueblitos delivering treats and singing traditional songs.
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| Our first task was to get a fire going in the charcoal oven. |
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| The Olentzero cottage, where the chestnut-roasting oven would be transported on the back of a pick-up |
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| A better look inside the cottage |
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| Scenic shot of a house and the setting sun |
In the first pueblo, I recorded a video of the Olentzero who makes his first appearance coming down from the mountain, as it is told in many stories. Note his charcoal-covered face...very authentic, eh?
Each stop on the Olentzero's route was exciting because you greeted a new crowd of people offering you Patxaran, wine, and cookies -- as well as several children dressed in traditional garb, eager to meet the Olentzero and warm their hands with roasted chestnuts.
We returned to central Pamplona just in time to see the Olentzero celebration in the old part, which was very distinct from the more personal tradition in which we had just participated. This was more of a parade through the old part of the city, with live animals, lots of music, and a shit ton more people. All pretty much right outside our front door.
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| The banners read something like "Bring our oppressed and exiled back" and they refer to the Basque people that have been imprisoned for terrorism in parts unknown to their family or friends. |
A holiday celebration unlike any other I've seen. In this part of the world, it seems strange to stay inside, even when it's cold.
Just wait 'til New Year's. Shit gets crazy.
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."
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.
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.
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.
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.
Yes, all those pictures are meals Elliot and I cooked and ate. Yes, they were delicious.
"So I guess we're not vegetarians anymore."
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| 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.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plains
On this rainy day, which will be among several rainy days this week, I'm not thinking about My Fair Lady, but rather something I just realized I miss.
After a wet bike ride this morning, I came back to the apartment really craving a pale ale.
A bitter,
grassy,
frothy,
golden,
PALE ALE.
As many of you may already know, however, this country is not really known for its beers, but rather its wines. So the closest I can get to a PPA, is some kind of imported Belgian triple-ale. Sure it's high-gravity, but it just ain't the crisp and skunky I'm used to.
More like the beer in Spain stays mainly away from my brain...or something.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Fotos & Haircuts
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.
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| Calle de Chapitela, as it intersects with la Plaza del Castillo in the center of Pamplona. |
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| 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). |
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| Elliot, chattin' it up on the cheapest cell phone Spain would allow with a prospective English student. |
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| 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." |
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| 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. |
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| 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.
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