Tuesday, December 21, 2010
La fiesta (aka, the drunken mess of 40 year olds)
When Marta (my spanish mother) said she was going to invite a few friends over to celebrate her 40th birthday, I envisioned a few grown adults, gathered around chatting and sipping some wine (because this is Spain, they love their wine.) But, I have never mis-judged something more. My first clue that this quite affair was not going to be so.. quite, was when I saw the guest list. Turns out "a few" friends, meant 50+. Well, okay, Marta is the calm type, surly her friends are too, no problem. But then Tomas (the dad) arrived home with the beverages from the party. Which I'm pretty sure he cleaned out several stores alcohol sections, and no joke, it took to cars to transport it all. They day of the party rolled around, Marta (as she is now does on a daily basis) gave me a fashion show of all the possible outfits, and spent the day primping. It was kind of adorable, she looked like a teenager getting ready for prom. Anyways, as the guests started arriving, I decided maybe I'd scaddadle for a bit with my own friends, and let her enjoy her party without having to remind everyone to speak castellano so I'd understand. And moreover, I've learned from previous experience, that once a little alcohol is in them, they tend to love to fire away questions at me, which is fine, except for slurred-spanish is just a little to difficult for me to understand. When I left the house, the party was almost how I imagined it, everyone merrily chatting (a little louder then I thought) and with a drink in hand. Around 2am, I thought surly the party would be well over, considering it started a good 6 hours before, and I'd just slip in and head off to bed. As I got closer to my house, i heard the beats of lady gaga, which, isn't so unusual since I live near a park, and sometimes people have a boom-box and hang out there. But as I got closer, I discovered the music was in fact, coming from my building. Yes, the music of the pop sensation audible from a block away, was coming from the 40 year old christmas party at 2am. I hesitantly decided to go in, considering I didn't really have much else to do at 2am, and as soon as I opened the door, I man with our christmas tree star balanced on his head immediately greeted me with (very loudly, considering he had to out-yell the music) "Bienvenido a la fiesta de navidad!" (welcome to the christmas party!) Then, Marta came running over, tipsy at best, saying, "es la Stevie, es la Stevie!" (It's Stevie, It's Stevie!) As she ran around the room yelling this, the man with the star followed after her asking "quien es la Stevie?!" (who is Stevie?!) After I was wished a Merry Christmas, or a Feliz Navidad, or a Bon Nadal (or really it was more of a combination of these three) I made it to me room, just as, song change, Tik Tok came on. Needless to say, the party wasn't near over, and instead of sleep I enjoyed a piece of cake and a wonderful playlist of the hottest songs, which, inspired karaoke, dancing, and much more. The party finally ended around 5am, and people started leaving (those who could.. a majority of them ended up leaving the next afternoon.) I guess I should have seen it coming, because there is no such thing as a nice, calm party in Spain. And in case your wondering, the christmas tree star (along with a majority of the other decorations) didn't survive. Luckily, little Tomas made us some nice new ones.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
The holidays as never seen before!
Christmas is getting into full swing here, although sometimes it's hardly recognizable to do all the very odd traditions it's attached to here. Two of these seem to stand out the most, and every time I see them, I'm still shocked at a) how they at all represent the Christmas spirit, and b)that not only are they politically correct, but it is harshly frowned upon to ignore said traditions. I will explain:
1) Caganer (which translates more or less into "pooper")
The Caganer is, crudely put, a statue of a man pooping. The traditional Caganer is dressed in black pants, a white shirt, a red hat, and is found with his pants down and in a squatting position, with a pile of poo under his rear-end. This statue is EVERYWHERE here. There is a particularly lovely one in a shopping center, that is two stories tall. But more commonly, you find them inside everyones house, in the manger scene. Yes, thats right. Squatting next to baby Jesus and Mary, is a little Caganer. I really can't get a good background on this little guy, although it's nothing new. Apparently he's been gracing manger scenes in Catluña for quite sometime. And now days, they've varied from the traditional Caganer, and you can get famous soccer players, actors, and yes, even an Obama Caganer.
2) Tio Nadal or Tio Caga (Uncle Christmas or Uncle Poop)
I hope your noticing the trend of the association of poop and Christmas. Tio Nadal is usually symbolized as a log, with a face painted on him and a red hat. For the month leading up to Christmas, the kids "feed" their Tio every night, and tuck him in with a blanket so he doesn't get cold. He sure eats a lot, because every morning the food is magically gone. After a month of good care, the kids then beat the log with a stick while singing the traditional song, and if the Tio is pleased and well fed, he will "poop" out little candies and gifts.
As you can see, I'm bound to have a very exciting and interesting Christmas. And maybe even figure out exactly how poop became associated with Christmas.
I'll admit I'm even more homesick now that it's getting closer to Christmas. I'm going to miss a lot of the traditions and being with my family. I'm trying to imitate some of them here (although sledding is just a little difficult here) and pick up on some new traditions. I think I'd be completely falling apart if Jack wasn't coming in 15 1/2 days (not that I'm counting) so at least I'l have someone familiar to spend Christmas with, even if we are surrounded my pooping statues.
1) Caganer (which translates more or less into "pooper")
The Caganer is, crudely put, a statue of a man pooping. The traditional Caganer is dressed in black pants, a white shirt, a red hat, and is found with his pants down and in a squatting position, with a pile of poo under his rear-end. This statue is EVERYWHERE here. There is a particularly lovely one in a shopping center, that is two stories tall. But more commonly, you find them inside everyones house, in the manger scene. Yes, thats right. Squatting next to baby Jesus and Mary, is a little Caganer. I really can't get a good background on this little guy, although it's nothing new. Apparently he's been gracing manger scenes in Catluña for quite sometime. And now days, they've varied from the traditional Caganer, and you can get famous soccer players, actors, and yes, even an Obama Caganer.
2) Tio Nadal or Tio Caga (Uncle Christmas or Uncle Poop)
I hope your noticing the trend of the association of poop and Christmas. Tio Nadal is usually symbolized as a log, with a face painted on him and a red hat. For the month leading up to Christmas, the kids "feed" their Tio every night, and tuck him in with a blanket so he doesn't get cold. He sure eats a lot, because every morning the food is magically gone. After a month of good care, the kids then beat the log with a stick while singing the traditional song, and if the Tio is pleased and well fed, he will "poop" out little candies and gifts.
As you can see, I'm bound to have a very exciting and interesting Christmas. And maybe even figure out exactly how poop became associated with Christmas.
I'll admit I'm even more homesick now that it's getting closer to Christmas. I'm going to miss a lot of the traditions and being with my family. I'm trying to imitate some of them here (although sledding is just a little difficult here) and pick up on some new traditions. I think I'd be completely falling apart if Jack wasn't coming in 15 1/2 days (not that I'm counting) so at least I'l have someone familiar to spend Christmas with, even if we are surrounded my pooping statues.
Monday, November 22, 2010
American holiday in a chinese resturant with an Irish friend in Spain
Now that the holidays are coming up, I'm starting to have my first case of homesickness. Thus far, I've had times of missing my family, my friends, and random objects that can't be found in Spain, but now i'm experiencing ligament homesickness. The thought of not being with my family for Christmas is just so strange, and on top of that, I'm apprehensive about spending it with my family here, since we will be with all of there relatives, and I'll be the strange american girl in the corner. I'm sure my nerves are just making me dramatic, but it is going to be an unusual Christmas. And it's odd how much you can miss the little things, like baking christmas cookies, watching Christmas movies, and the worst, a REAL christmas tree. But I'm trying to be positive, and think how amazing of an experience it will be to have christmas in Spain. Thanksgiving is this Thursday, and I'm taking that one a little better, and have made a date with an Irish girl I met here, to have "thanksgiving dinner" at a chinese restaurant here in Olesa. I just find that one kind of humorous and figure I can't have a much more international dinner then that.
Other tidbits:
-I started my internship this week, and I couldn't be happier. The photographer is so kind, and really is willing to help me in whatever way he can. He's reviewing my portfolio now, and we're lining up shoots and assignments that I can go out with him on to observe. He's also helping me organize my own editorial project that I can be working on while I'm here. I think I will learn so much, and have such a great portfolio and resume when I start looking for jobs or internships back home.
- Harry Potter+in Spanish= 10x better
I did feel a little stupid though, because we showed up 45 mins early to the showing, so we'd get good seats, and almost sprinted into the theater as soon as it was open, only to learn they were assigned seats, so it was all a waste. But the movie was excellent and really added to my spanish vocabulary (if I ever needed to cast spells that is.)
Other tidbits:
-I started my internship this week, and I couldn't be happier. The photographer is so kind, and really is willing to help me in whatever way he can. He's reviewing my portfolio now, and we're lining up shoots and assignments that I can go out with him on to observe. He's also helping me organize my own editorial project that I can be working on while I'm here. I think I will learn so much, and have such a great portfolio and resume when I start looking for jobs or internships back home.
- Harry Potter+in Spanish= 10x better
I did feel a little stupid though, because we showed up 45 mins early to the showing, so we'd get good seats, and almost sprinted into the theater as soon as it was open, only to learn they were assigned seats, so it was all a waste. But the movie was excellent and really added to my spanish vocabulary (if I ever needed to cast spells that is.)
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The Pope and other random tales...
The big event of the week was El Papa's (the Pope) visit to the city & I was more then surprised how un-peaceful of an event this turned into. Naturally, I couldn't avoid such a conflict (blame it on my lack of debate outlets) so I decided to go in Saturday afternoon to take pictures of the mayhem. And thus begin yet another "fail" for Stevie in the city. Short version: I arrive at the protest, take out my camera, and, realize my battery is at home on the charger. Unfortunate, but not a big deal. I still had an excellent time trying to understand the disputes between the pro-pope and anti-pope crowds. Once I got the protesting out of my system, I decided that I should get back to the bus stop and head home, since it's been getting dark earlier here, and since La Rambla isn't a place to be alone at night. Some how, the bus stop disappeared. I've been there many times now, and never got lost, but what I decided would be a short cut, ended up getting me terribly lost. So I walked and walked, and finally decided to ask 2 police where it was. They gave me a wonderfully vague answer of straight and to the left. So I just started walking, not knowing HOW far straight or HOW far to the left, but figuring I was in the general vacinaty. After about 30 minutes or circling, I had my second attempt at asking directions, which, was equally un-helpful. By this time, I had already missed the first bus, and the next didn't leave for another two hours, so I decided that I was probably close to the bus stop, and I'd just get something to eat and then pick up my search. Fast forward 1:45 minutes. I have been walking, and walking, and finally decided that the bus stop must not be anywhere close, because surly I would have seen it. My new plan is to find a metro, take it back to La Rambla, and start again. Fast forward 30 minutes. Still walking, no metro in sight, have missed the second bus, and am on track to miss the third if I don't find a metro ASAP. Right when my panic mode is about to set in, I see the glowing red "M" of the metro sign, and sprint down the stairs to look at the map and see where I am. I think people thought I was crazy, because I literally almost died laughing when I saw what station I was at, and how FAR it was from where I started, or where I was trying to get. And, sad to report, it was probably my frazzled, hysterical apperance that caused me, minutes later, to get my wallet stolen while on the crowded train back to La Rambla. Conclution: I made it to the bus stop, realized my wallet was gone, my phone was dead, and had no way to pay for the bus or call for help. Thank god for a sweet old lady who punched her bus ticket twice so I could get back to the safe haven of Olesa. Then Sunday I got to spend all day cancelling cards, replacing info, all that fun stuff. Note to self: Protesting the pope= lots of bad karma.
Other notes:
I start my internship for an amazing photographer on the 17th! I'm so anxious and nervous and excited. And have been busy trying to touch up and add to my portfolio, which he wants to see!
Tomas (the little one) said his first, full sentence in english without prompt. Normally, he'll say words, like spanglish, or repeat a sentence if you tell him it, but this is the first time he just came up to me and told me something in english. Thankfully, his mom was there to witness this, and she is just extatic, because she was convinced that'd he'd never speak english. The sentence "I'm going to win because I'm faster then you." A little cocky, and scary, especially with the look he gave me when he said it. But i'll take it anyday, if he's saying it in english.
Other notes:
I start my internship for an amazing photographer on the 17th! I'm so anxious and nervous and excited. And have been busy trying to touch up and add to my portfolio, which he wants to see!
Tomas (the little one) said his first, full sentence in english without prompt. Normally, he'll say words, like spanglish, or repeat a sentence if you tell him it, but this is the first time he just came up to me and told me something in english. Thankfully, his mom was there to witness this, and she is just extatic, because she was convinced that'd he'd never speak english. The sentence "I'm going to win because I'm faster then you." A little cocky, and scary, especially with the look he gave me when he said it. But i'll take it anyday, if he's saying it in english.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Creepers, Hospitals, and Internships
Part I: Creepers
This week has been one for creeping, both being creeped on, and doing some creeping myself. I went into Barcelona Sunday with my Irish friend, with plans to have a nice, relaxing evening in the park. However, we soon saw this wouldn't be the case when we got on the metro and two men were persistently staring and, well, being creepers. I'm always a little paranoid, so I just ignored it, figuring we'd get off the metro and they'd bug off. However, once we got off and started walking to the park, we realized they weren't going to leave us alone. So we zig-zaged through crowds hoping to lose them, until finally they sat down at a bench, and we continued on. We spent a good two hours in the park, and finally decided we needed some coffee. But, being a Sunday, nothing was open but a little store, so I went in to ask if they knew of a cafe nearby that would be open. The man replied yes, they're everywhere. And I said, noooo, I've been walking around for two hours and there not. And he said, well how about I invite you to coffee and I'll show you. I declined, he asked why, and I said, duh, because I don't know you. I then just decided to leave, while he stood in the doorway yelling, "do you want me to invite you? I will!" So escaping creeper #2, we decided to count our losses and head back toward the metro. But lone behold, creeper #1 was still sitting on the bench, and of course, as soon as we passed by, he got up and continued his pursuit. We figured it wasn't a good idea to get on the metro again with him, so we did our best to lose him, but to no avail. So we headed back to the metro, and right before we got on our train (which coincidentally, he was going on to) I turned to him, and in flustered Spanish muttered something like "if you keep following us, I'm going to tell the security guard." He must of understood, because that was the end of the creeper situation for the night.
I've also been doing some creeping, but I think mine is a little less... creepy. I've been taking lots of photos, but I haven't really been bold enough to get alot of people shots, which is what I really love, so I made it my mission today to practice my camera creeping, and get some good shots of people, since there is always someone doing something interesting. I'm still not as bold as I need to be, but I'm working on it. And hopefully some of the creeping skills of the Spanish will rub off on me.
Part II: Hospitals
Marta, the mother I'm staying with, got sick about a week ago, with what seemed like a simple cold. But last Wednesday, it escalated, and finally Tomas (the dad) decided she needed to go to the hospital. Unfortunately, she has been there ever since (it will be a week tomorrow.) They figured out right away it was an infection, but for the first several days, they were unable to figure out where it was coming from. They've finally got it under control, and she's expected to come home tomorrow (fingers crossed!) But, this all has meant that me and Little Tomas have been together all week, as how Tomas (the dad) has stayed with Marta at the hospital. I was worried about being alone with him all week, because if we had problems I'd have no relief from him. But it's turned out great, and he's been great this whole time, and seems to be trusting me tons more. He's slept in my bed with me all week, and even though that means I get kicked or hit every 30 minutes, I'm glad he trusts me and loves me this much now.
Part III: Internships
I send out an email to several papers and photographers here in Barcelona, asking for an informal internship, just trying to gain a little experience when I have a few hours to spare. I wasn't really expecting anything to come out of it (especially considering I don't know if my letter in Spanish was comprehend able.) But a I got a response back from and AMAZING photographer here in Barcelona, who is so generous and wiling to work with me and help me with what ever I need. He really focuses on social and photojournalism, which is exactly what I would love to photograph, and has been published in Time, BBC, National Geographic, everywhere I would dream of being published. I have a meeting tomorrow to make a plan with him, and hopefully I'll get to go out on lots of shoots, make some good contacts, and have an amazing experience learning more about photography. Here's his website, take a look if you have a minute, his photos are truly amazing. http://www.charliemahoney.net/
This week has been one for creeping, both being creeped on, and doing some creeping myself. I went into Barcelona Sunday with my Irish friend, with plans to have a nice, relaxing evening in the park. However, we soon saw this wouldn't be the case when we got on the metro and two men were persistently staring and, well, being creepers. I'm always a little paranoid, so I just ignored it, figuring we'd get off the metro and they'd bug off. However, once we got off and started walking to the park, we realized they weren't going to leave us alone. So we zig-zaged through crowds hoping to lose them, until finally they sat down at a bench, and we continued on. We spent a good two hours in the park, and finally decided we needed some coffee. But, being a Sunday, nothing was open but a little store, so I went in to ask if they knew of a cafe nearby that would be open. The man replied yes, they're everywhere. And I said, noooo, I've been walking around for two hours and there not. And he said, well how about I invite you to coffee and I'll show you. I declined, he asked why, and I said, duh, because I don't know you. I then just decided to leave, while he stood in the doorway yelling, "do you want me to invite you? I will!" So escaping creeper #2, we decided to count our losses and head back toward the metro. But lone behold, creeper #1 was still sitting on the bench, and of course, as soon as we passed by, he got up and continued his pursuit. We figured it wasn't a good idea to get on the metro again with him, so we did our best to lose him, but to no avail. So we headed back to the metro, and right before we got on our train (which coincidentally, he was going on to) I turned to him, and in flustered Spanish muttered something like "if you keep following us, I'm going to tell the security guard." He must of understood, because that was the end of the creeper situation for the night.
I've also been doing some creeping, but I think mine is a little less... creepy. I've been taking lots of photos, but I haven't really been bold enough to get alot of people shots, which is what I really love, so I made it my mission today to practice my camera creeping, and get some good shots of people, since there is always someone doing something interesting. I'm still not as bold as I need to be, but I'm working on it. And hopefully some of the creeping skills of the Spanish will rub off on me.
Part II: Hospitals
Marta, the mother I'm staying with, got sick about a week ago, with what seemed like a simple cold. But last Wednesday, it escalated, and finally Tomas (the dad) decided she needed to go to the hospital. Unfortunately, she has been there ever since (it will be a week tomorrow.) They figured out right away it was an infection, but for the first several days, they were unable to figure out where it was coming from. They've finally got it under control, and she's expected to come home tomorrow (fingers crossed!) But, this all has meant that me and Little Tomas have been together all week, as how Tomas (the dad) has stayed with Marta at the hospital. I was worried about being alone with him all week, because if we had problems I'd have no relief from him. But it's turned out great, and he's been great this whole time, and seems to be trusting me tons more. He's slept in my bed with me all week, and even though that means I get kicked or hit every 30 minutes, I'm glad he trusts me and loves me this much now.
Part III: Internships
I send out an email to several papers and photographers here in Barcelona, asking for an informal internship, just trying to gain a little experience when I have a few hours to spare. I wasn't really expecting anything to come out of it (especially considering I don't know if my letter in Spanish was comprehend able.) But a I got a response back from and AMAZING photographer here in Barcelona, who is so generous and wiling to work with me and help me with what ever I need. He really focuses on social and photojournalism, which is exactly what I would love to photograph, and has been published in Time, BBC, National Geographic, everywhere I would dream of being published. I have a meeting tomorrow to make a plan with him, and hopefully I'll get to go out on lots of shoots, make some good contacts, and have an amazing experience learning more about photography. Here's his website, take a look if you have a minute, his photos are truly amazing. http://www.charliemahoney.net/
Friday, October 22, 2010
Words accociated....
Today as I was sitting on a bench outside Tomas's (the little boy) school, a mob of giggling 10 year old girls approached me, and one sheepishly said "hello." We procceded (in spanish, seeing how that was the end of their english) and I admitted (as if they hadn't already guessed by my accent) that I was from the US. Upon hearing this, one girl immeaditly shouted out, "DO YOU HAVE SHARKS THERE!" So, with this prompt, I am going to keep an on going list of things, people and objects people have associated me with upon hearing of my homeland... this could get interesting.
When I say USA, you say:
-Sharks
-American Flags
-George Bush (x alot)
-Obama (x alot)
- How I met your mother (the tv show)
- Mc Donalds and Starbucks
- New York, Miami, Las Vegas (all the asians here want to go to LV...)
There will be more to come.. The list is always growing (in size and oddness.)
When I say USA, you say:
-Sharks
-American Flags
-George Bush (x alot)
-Obama (x alot)
- How I met your mother (the tv show)
- Mc Donalds and Starbucks
- New York, Miami, Las Vegas (all the asians here want to go to LV...)
There will be more to come.. The list is always growing (in size and oddness.)
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Public ridicule, Irish slang and American Hatin'!
It's not that Barcelona is a dangerous place by any means. But like all big cities, and especially ones with millions of ignorant tourists roaming around (sidenote: please stop wearing sombreros here, that is Mexico people!) it's natural that there is a crowd who is looking to take advantage of these sitting ducks. Enter the pickpockets. Now, I have read in every tourist guide, and heard from all my friends, that when in especially touristy areas (like La Rambla, where this particular story takes place,) to keep a close eye on your bag. So, with this in mind, i've gotten into the habit of wearing my bag/purse across my chest and having it in front of my body, so it's always in view and not leaving my body. But, the other night, after paying for my meal in a restaurant, and hastily shoving my wallet back into my bag to await my food, I let the purse slip to a, "behind the back" position, and (GASP) left it unzipped, and so it began. A old man with a heavy scowl on his face walked up to be and started babbling at lightning speed in spanish. Needless to say, I didn't understand the first 12 times he tried to tell me something. I though maybe I was in the way, so I moved. Then I thought maybe I was supposed to sit while waiting (all these guesses were promoted by his mad hang gesturing.) Finally, I realized he was telling me that I was stupid. Hmm, a little blunt, and forward. So I asked him why. And he merely glanced down at my purse, and then went into a rant about how i'm just begging to be robbed, with my wallet sitting right there, and me already looking like a tourist (even though I try so hard not to.) By this point my cheeks were scarlet red, the entire restaurant had a grin on there face as the watched this episode take place, and worst yet, I had to eat my meal amongst all of them. I mumbled a bashful "thank you" to the old man, because granted, public shame is still better then being robbed. And needless to say, I now, triple check that my purse is zipped and securely in front of me before stepping foot outside.
I've also began to pick up the subtle (yet intense) hatred for American here. Make note, no one hates me because i'm American, but they just dislike my country. So I don't really take any of it personal, and I actually enjoy seeing and hearing peoples perception of the USA. Similarly to the US, Bush isn't popular here by any means. If I ever bring up his name, people use choice words in describing him. One person I talked to even went as far on explaining his theory how 9/11 was really instigated by Bush. That statement kind of floored me, because they truly believed that. And further more, this wasn't just the lone opinion of a crazy guy, that theory resinates with a lot of the people here. Other people have told me how they find it annoying how the USA seems to have a superiority complex, and how we're beyond being "proud" of our country, to a level where we think we are better then any other country. Someone else asked me if most houses really had American Flags in front of them, like portrayed in a lot of the movies. After seeing one of these said movies, I decided that we're not quite as intense as portrayed, however we do have a good amount of stores and business that have a flag waving, where as here, I've only seen them in front of gov't buildings. I guess I just find it interesting how to me, waving a flag on the fourth of July seems patriotic and supportive of my country, where as here, it seems arrogant.
On a lighter note, there is a girl from Ireland who is living in my town and is also 18. She's here teaching English to a elementary school, but knows absolutely NO spanish, so I've been showing here around and trying to introduce her to more english speakers. But my favorite part is the Irish sayings that she uses, although I usually understand them, and sometimes they're similar to ones we have in the US, there is something about the words she uses and her Irish accent that just cracks me up. So now, I'm going to "put my skates on" so i don't miss my bus into Barcelona!
I've also began to pick up the subtle (yet intense) hatred for American here. Make note, no one hates me because i'm American, but they just dislike my country. So I don't really take any of it personal, and I actually enjoy seeing and hearing peoples perception of the USA. Similarly to the US, Bush isn't popular here by any means. If I ever bring up his name, people use choice words in describing him. One person I talked to even went as far on explaining his theory how 9/11 was really instigated by Bush. That statement kind of floored me, because they truly believed that. And further more, this wasn't just the lone opinion of a crazy guy, that theory resinates with a lot of the people here. Other people have told me how they find it annoying how the USA seems to have a superiority complex, and how we're beyond being "proud" of our country, to a level where we think we are better then any other country. Someone else asked me if most houses really had American Flags in front of them, like portrayed in a lot of the movies. After seeing one of these said movies, I decided that we're not quite as intense as portrayed, however we do have a good amount of stores and business that have a flag waving, where as here, I've only seen them in front of gov't buildings. I guess I just find it interesting how to me, waving a flag on the fourth of July seems patriotic and supportive of my country, where as here, it seems arrogant.
On a lighter note, there is a girl from Ireland who is living in my town and is also 18. She's here teaching English to a elementary school, but knows absolutely NO spanish, so I've been showing here around and trying to introduce her to more english speakers. But my favorite part is the Irish sayings that she uses, although I usually understand them, and sometimes they're similar to ones we have in the US, there is something about the words she uses and her Irish accent that just cracks me up. So now, I'm going to "put my skates on" so i don't miss my bus into Barcelona!
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Winning hearts
After (almost) a month here, I'm finally starting to figure people out, and with that, I now know just the thing to win them over.
Cookies: I made a half-hazerd batch of cookies the other day, and what I thought turned out as sub-par pastries turned out to be a bonding experience and an invitation to stay with the family indefinitely. The ingredients were all slightly different then what I was used to, the oven in celsius, and since baking in your house is a rarity, I had to make do with a casserole dish in place of baking sheets. But as soon as Tomas pequeno saw how we "magically" turned eggs, sugar, flour and chocolate into cookies, he has been attached to my hip since. And Marta and Tomas (the father) walked in the door and sprinted towards the kitchen asking what the wonderful smell was. The plate of cookies was gone in minutes, and Tomas (father) says he is going to clear out his office and turn it into a bakery for me. Marta's niece, Rosamaria comes over every Wednesday after school, so I decided to make a second batch with her. As a 13 year old, I thought she would have baked at least one batch of cookies, but it turns out, she was equally as fascinated as the other's by the "magic" of baking. She literally sat in front of the oven, staring, for the entire time the cookies were baking. I never thought a cookies would bring me so much love.
Translator:
Today, the next door neighbor bashfully knocked on the door and explained that she had a letter that from an english doctor that she had been trying to translate for three hours and to little avail. When I had the letter fully written out in castellano (spanish) 15 minutes later, she was ecstatic. She thanked me for 10 minutes, and said how she was going to invite me over for dinner, and said to make a menu of my favorite foods and she'd make me a " grand dinner." Similarly, all of Tomas pequenos little friends have now gotten over their fear of the tall scary "American" and now run up to me on the street to ask me how to say words in spanish.
Cookies: I made a half-hazerd batch of cookies the other day, and what I thought turned out as sub-par pastries turned out to be a bonding experience and an invitation to stay with the family indefinitely. The ingredients were all slightly different then what I was used to, the oven in celsius, and since baking in your house is a rarity, I had to make do with a casserole dish in place of baking sheets. But as soon as Tomas pequeno saw how we "magically" turned eggs, sugar, flour and chocolate into cookies, he has been attached to my hip since. And Marta and Tomas (the father) walked in the door and sprinted towards the kitchen asking what the wonderful smell was. The plate of cookies was gone in minutes, and Tomas (father) says he is going to clear out his office and turn it into a bakery for me. Marta's niece, Rosamaria comes over every Wednesday after school, so I decided to make a second batch with her. As a 13 year old, I thought she would have baked at least one batch of cookies, but it turns out, she was equally as fascinated as the other's by the "magic" of baking. She literally sat in front of the oven, staring, for the entire time the cookies were baking. I never thought a cookies would bring me so much love.
Translator:
Today, the next door neighbor bashfully knocked on the door and explained that she had a letter that from an english doctor that she had been trying to translate for three hours and to little avail. When I had the letter fully written out in castellano (spanish) 15 minutes later, she was ecstatic. She thanked me for 10 minutes, and said how she was going to invite me over for dinner, and said to make a menu of my favorite foods and she'd make me a " grand dinner." Similarly, all of Tomas pequenos little friends have now gotten over their fear of the tall scary "American" and now run up to me on the street to ask me how to say words in spanish.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Rewind: Las personas
I got so caught up in the frenzy of things that I forgot to explain the details of my life in Spain.
I'm living with a family in Olesa de Montserrat (a little outside of Barcelona. This may be review for some of you, but just hang in there.) In the mornings I go into Barcelona to the University, and have until 5pm to go to classes, and do what I please. At 5pm, I'm back in Olesa to pick up Tomas (we'll get to who that in a moment) and I take care of him and teach him english until 8 or 9 when his parents return. But now, who exactly are these people that i've decided to "adopt" as my new (temporary) family.
First, there is Marta, the mom of the family. She is a tiny little women, but is the kindest, sweetest person imaginable. She is always fluttering around making sure I'm comfortable and content here. Sometime's she reminds me of a little kid, because she often gets giddy and giggly when she's talking to me. She love's having me here, because it's another girl in the house, so she's already started showing me the new clothes she's bought, or asking me about her hair and all the girly stuff. Plus, I LOVE the bread she makes, and I guess thats not many people do, so she bake me a loaf every other day. (Sidenote: this is one of the many reasons you should all anticipate me coming home at least 20 pounds heavier.) Plus, we both have an avid love of espresso and diet coke, so that made bonding almost inevitable.
Next is Tomas, the father (not to be confused with Tomas pequeno (little Tomas.) He is a little more reserved, but anything that comes out of his mouth is usually always some joke or poke. After he made me my first meal of snails, (which didn't go over very well on my end) he told me that if Tomas pequeno didn't learn perfect english in a month, that I'd be eating snails every night for the rest of my stay... (at least I hope that was a joke.) But besides the snails, he is a fantastic cook, and it seems like he's always either making the next meal, or preparing to make a meal for the next day. Regardless, the food he makes is always fantastic.
Now, Tomas pequno, the only child of Marta and Tomas, who is 4 years old. He is probably the hardest to describe. Because on any given day, my discription would dirastically vary. Two days ago, for example, I would have told you he is most similar to a 4 year old, spanish speaking devil, who cries at everything, and refuses to listen to anything, anyone says. But if I were to give you a description of this same child yesterday, I would tell you how adorable and determined he is when speaking to me in his broken english, how cute he is when he dances and sings, and how he is in love with me because I introduced him to Thomas the Tank engine (which for a kid, a cartoon character with the same name is the best.) So maybe that kind of gives you an idea. Luckily, must days tend to be like the 2nd. It's just the occasional "devilish" day that throws me off. But he'l almost 5, maybe he'll grow out of it...
Now, for some other, non-"family" members (I'll try to make the descriptions a bit shorter... )
Rodrigue: My language professor at the University, who is absolutely hilarious, and make classes so much easier and actually fun to attend. Since the point of the class is an intensive language course, to improve our spanish, it is pretty small, only about 10 other students. So he actually knows us (more then a lot of teachers do...) And always seems genuinely interested in helping us with Spanish and Spain in general.
Marcel: I seem to make friends in random places, but Marcel is now dubbed my "Bus buddy." He also lives in Olesa and studies in Barcelona, so I met him one day when the bus was super crowded. He turned out to be so sweet, and has since introduced me to all of his friends in Olesa, so I know have people to hang out with after work or on weekends. They're all really wonderful, and so patient when I'm trying to explain things in Spanish, and are always willing to help me with directions to somewhere, or things to do. So thank goodness for having crowded buses and having to sit by a stranger (who turned out to be a great friend.)
There's so many more people, and I'm sure there will be more to come... But we'll save that for a different post.
I'm living with a family in Olesa de Montserrat (a little outside of Barcelona. This may be review for some of you, but just hang in there.) In the mornings I go into Barcelona to the University, and have until 5pm to go to classes, and do what I please. At 5pm, I'm back in Olesa to pick up Tomas (we'll get to who that in a moment) and I take care of him and teach him english until 8 or 9 when his parents return. But now, who exactly are these people that i've decided to "adopt" as my new (temporary) family.
First, there is Marta, the mom of the family. She is a tiny little women, but is the kindest, sweetest person imaginable. She is always fluttering around making sure I'm comfortable and content here. Sometime's she reminds me of a little kid, because she often gets giddy and giggly when she's talking to me. She love's having me here, because it's another girl in the house, so she's already started showing me the new clothes she's bought, or asking me about her hair and all the girly stuff. Plus, I LOVE the bread she makes, and I guess thats not many people do, so she bake me a loaf every other day. (Sidenote: this is one of the many reasons you should all anticipate me coming home at least 20 pounds heavier.) Plus, we both have an avid love of espresso and diet coke, so that made bonding almost inevitable.
Next is Tomas, the father (not to be confused with Tomas pequeno (little Tomas.) He is a little more reserved, but anything that comes out of his mouth is usually always some joke or poke. After he made me my first meal of snails, (which didn't go over very well on my end) he told me that if Tomas pequeno didn't learn perfect english in a month, that I'd be eating snails every night for the rest of my stay... (at least I hope that was a joke.) But besides the snails, he is a fantastic cook, and it seems like he's always either making the next meal, or preparing to make a meal for the next day. Regardless, the food he makes is always fantastic.
Now, Tomas pequno, the only child of Marta and Tomas, who is 4 years old. He is probably the hardest to describe. Because on any given day, my discription would dirastically vary. Two days ago, for example, I would have told you he is most similar to a 4 year old, spanish speaking devil, who cries at everything, and refuses to listen to anything, anyone says. But if I were to give you a description of this same child yesterday, I would tell you how adorable and determined he is when speaking to me in his broken english, how cute he is when he dances and sings, and how he is in love with me because I introduced him to Thomas the Tank engine (which for a kid, a cartoon character with the same name is the best.) So maybe that kind of gives you an idea. Luckily, must days tend to be like the 2nd. It's just the occasional "devilish" day that throws me off. But he'l almost 5, maybe he'll grow out of it...
Now, for some other, non-"family" members (I'll try to make the descriptions a bit shorter... )
Rodrigue: My language professor at the University, who is absolutely hilarious, and make classes so much easier and actually fun to attend. Since the point of the class is an intensive language course, to improve our spanish, it is pretty small, only about 10 other students. So he actually knows us (more then a lot of teachers do...) And always seems genuinely interested in helping us with Spanish and Spain in general.
Marcel: I seem to make friends in random places, but Marcel is now dubbed my "Bus buddy." He also lives in Olesa and studies in Barcelona, so I met him one day when the bus was super crowded. He turned out to be so sweet, and has since introduced me to all of his friends in Olesa, so I know have people to hang out with after work or on weekends. They're all really wonderful, and so patient when I'm trying to explain things in Spanish, and are always willing to help me with directions to somewhere, or things to do. So thank goodness for having crowded buses and having to sit by a stranger (who turned out to be a great friend.)
There's so many more people, and I'm sure there will be more to come... But we'll save that for a different post.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The "work" day... on strike
Today's events helped cement my confused theory about the work ethic/ productivity of those in Spain. I've been marveling the last week at how anything actually gets accomplished here.
A typical "working" day in Spain goes something like this:
10 am- Arrive to work
1 pm- Head home to start preparing lunch (or sip a coffee if lunch is being prepared for you at a cafe)
2 pm- Eat (mind you, this takes a least an hour, none of that US, half hour lunch break stuff)
3:30 pm- Return to work, after having an espresso and catching up on the days events
5 pm- Walk to pick up kids from school (which requires both parents, not just one)
6 pm- If your child has music, language or some other extra curricular, your may squeeze in an extra half hours work... or maybe just spend the time chatting with friends.
And that concludes the work day.
By my observations, this leaves almost no time to actually accomplish any sort of task, but somehow, magically I suppose, everything manages to get done and function as it should.
But on top of this odd daily schedule, i've noticed that "normal work days" are rare. Take last week for example, when Friday was a day of for "fiestas" in Barcelona. And Monday could hardly be considered a work day, because of course, you need to recover from the weekends activities. And now today, Wednesday, everything has came to a screeching halt because of the strike. Buses, metros and trains did not operate. Which alone shuts done many businesses, schools, and offices since people here heavily rely on public transportation. But you figure, okay, day off, i'll just do some errands and shop. Except all the stores, markets, and restaurants are on strike too. And if at this point, you have any motivation left to try to do anything, there is the hoards of bat-yielding people who are there to ward off anyone from entering any "open" businesses who aren't partaking in the strike. Needless to say, nothing was accomplished today. Just another day in Spain I suppose. And I'm still left without answer to this incredible mystery of how things are accomplished in this country.
A typical "working" day in Spain goes something like this:
10 am- Arrive to work
1 pm- Head home to start preparing lunch (or sip a coffee if lunch is being prepared for you at a cafe)
2 pm- Eat (mind you, this takes a least an hour, none of that US, half hour lunch break stuff)
3:30 pm- Return to work, after having an espresso and catching up on the days events
5 pm- Walk to pick up kids from school (which requires both parents, not just one)
6 pm- If your child has music, language or some other extra curricular, your may squeeze in an extra half hours work... or maybe just spend the time chatting with friends.
And that concludes the work day.
By my observations, this leaves almost no time to actually accomplish any sort of task, but somehow, magically I suppose, everything manages to get done and function as it should.
But on top of this odd daily schedule, i've noticed that "normal work days" are rare. Take last week for example, when Friday was a day of for "fiestas" in Barcelona. And Monday could hardly be considered a work day, because of course, you need to recover from the weekends activities. And now today, Wednesday, everything has came to a screeching halt because of the strike. Buses, metros and trains did not operate. Which alone shuts done many businesses, schools, and offices since people here heavily rely on public transportation. But you figure, okay, day off, i'll just do some errands and shop. Except all the stores, markets, and restaurants are on strike too. And if at this point, you have any motivation left to try to do anything, there is the hoards of bat-yielding people who are there to ward off anyone from entering any "open" businesses who aren't partaking in the strike. Needless to say, nothing was accomplished today. Just another day in Spain I suppose. And I'm still left without answer to this incredible mystery of how things are accomplished in this country.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Busy busy weekend!
My first real weekend in Spain was loco! I tried to calculate, and I easily walked 20 miles between my adventures in Olesa (where I live) and Barcelona (20 minutes from Olesa.) Friday night I went to La Ramblas, which is hard to describe. It's a very long, crowded street, where anything you could ever want to buy (and plenty of things you don't) are sold.) I bought a baby turtle, and Tomas (the 4 year old I take care of) is insistent that his name must be Pepitio. They're also tons of people dressed up as "statues" with very intricate costumes, varied from a cross dressed Marilyn Monroe, to outfits completely made of tinfoil. It's a very wild place to be, and would take days to truly inhale it all, so I'll return soon.
Saturday I met up with some friends in Olesa (yes.. I made friends here!) They showed me around Olesa, all the "cool spots to hang out." Then we decided to head to the beach in Barcelona. It was wonderful; warm water, white sand... and unfortunately, to many topless old ladies and pant-less men. But I'm in Europe now, I guess I should get used to it.
Sunday I had my own personal tour guide (one of my new friends) to show me the sights in Barcelona. I saw countless things, which i'll describe in detail later. My days disappointment was learning the bullfighting has recently been outlawed, so no bullfights for me (sorry Alli, this means no matadors!) But it's actually a big debate between the government and bullfighters, so who knows, there may be hope for me later on!
Saturday I met up with some friends in Olesa (yes.. I made friends here!) They showed me around Olesa, all the "cool spots to hang out." Then we decided to head to the beach in Barcelona. It was wonderful; warm water, white sand... and unfortunately, to many topless old ladies and pant-less men. But I'm in Europe now, I guess I should get used to it.
Sunday I had my own personal tour guide (one of my new friends) to show me the sights in Barcelona. I saw countless things, which i'll describe in detail later. My days disappointment was learning the bullfighting has recently been outlawed, so no bullfights for me (sorry Alli, this means no matadors!) But it's actually a big debate between the government and bullfighters, so who knows, there may be hope for me later on!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
HAY, the stress.
Given the size of Gardiner, MT (My home,) there is little need for public transportation, therefore my experience is, well zero. So began my adventure Monday to take the bus from Olesa (where I live) to Barcelona (for school.) I arrived at the bus stop at 9:00, to wait for the 9:10 bus. I wait, fret that I'm in the right place, think about asking someone, but decide to continue to wait. 9:25 roles around and finally, the bus arrives. (In typical Spanish fashion, arriving when it's well and ready, not according to schedule.) A half-hour bus ride later, I get off at (what I think) is my stop in Barcelona. Well, it's not, but no problem, just a little extra walk. So I walk... and walk... and walk. And then refer to my map, only to find that the street really aren't marked with any kind of names. I finally arrive at school, (30 minutes late, but hey, I've just adapted quickly to the spanish tardiness.) I'm immediately thrown into a room to complete a test to determine my level of Spanish. Which given my frantic, stressed and sweaty state, I'm surprised to report I did surprisingly well, and was quickly shoved into the highest level class. I look around. The teacher looks unenthused and now very sympathetic towards my state. The other students, all much older, much more experienced in both college and Spanish. Then began three hours of misery, confusion, stress, and a whole lot of other negative emotions. Granted though, I'm in Spain, in a beautiful city, with wonderful sun, and gorgeous beaches, so keep all my complaining in context. Skip ahead to today. conquered the public transportation system, arrived to class with time to spare (even time for a pre-class espresso,) moved to a class where the students are more or less the same age, and the teacher much more energetic and inspiring. Best of all, no longer am I overcome by confusion. And when you can do your homework on the beach, who's to complain!
Sunday, September 12, 2010
The good, the great and the new.
I finally made it to the lovely country of Spain after a full 24 hours of traveling. The last two days I've spent trying to recover from jet leg, and making the following observations about this foreign land...
1) America: Get from point A to point B as fast as possible.
Spain: Leave point A, stop at a sidewalk cafe for drinks, see friends and chat, arrive two hours later to point B.
2) America: Devour lunch in a rush to fit your 30 minute lunch break.
Spain: Causally eat and converse. And whats eating without a nap afterwards. Lunch break = Min. of 2 hours.
3) America: Drink your super grande, non-fat latte for hours.
Spain: Espresso+sugar, drink and done.
4) America: Greet with "Hello, how are you" and a flimsy handshake.
Spain: A kiss on each cheek, even for complete strangers.
The list goes on and on, but I'll stop here. I can't imagine what else I'll have to recount once I begin to explore the city a but more. For now, I'm enjoying my leisurely meals and daily espresso (x3) and can't wait for whats to come. Pictures soon!
1) America: Get from point A to point B as fast as possible.
Spain: Leave point A, stop at a sidewalk cafe for drinks, see friends and chat, arrive two hours later to point B.
2) America: Devour lunch in a rush to fit your 30 minute lunch break.
Spain: Causally eat and converse. And whats eating without a nap afterwards. Lunch break = Min. of 2 hours.
3) America: Drink your super grande, non-fat latte for hours.
Spain: Espresso+sugar, drink and done.
4) America: Greet with "Hello, how are you" and a flimsy handshake.
Spain: A kiss on each cheek, even for complete strangers.
The list goes on and on, but I'll stop here. I can't imagine what else I'll have to recount once I begin to explore the city a but more. For now, I'm enjoying my leisurely meals and daily espresso (x3) and can't wait for whats to come. Pictures soon!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)