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.

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!

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!

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!