Sometimes, just sometimes, I wish my mother didn't raise me to know better....

These old Spanish women love to test my gangsta, I swear!

Everytime they push past me with the strength of 10,000 men, my instinct is to let them know what's really, really hood. [They have to know it's rude to push...right?]

Only thing that stops me is the apparition of my mother with a look on her face that says "What did you just do? I'm getting the belt. Let's see if you'll disrespect your elders again."

Dammit mom, dammit.

France, is that you?

Never been in France before, but Girona is how I imagine it to be. I’ll find out for sure next year. Old castle walls, covered with greenery, winding cobblestone streets that dipped and climbed according the the landscape, and all of it by the laziest of rivers. (I actually hate those streets. I thought I would have myself a Beyonce experience and strut in heels as I went sightseeing. After nearly breaking my ankle 3 times I had to stop in some rando store for flats. Guidebooks should maybe write that in the description somewhere: cobblestone streets- Heels aren’t recommended. Could result in your subsequent death….but I digress)

I don’t consider myself a nature person, but I sat on those ivy covered walls that are probably older than the US itself, and was very content to be there, breathing in the fresh air and doing absolutely nothing. It had to be the most pure feeling that I’ve had in a long while.

Update: Upon further reflection, all those good feelings could also be due to the fact that I finally flats on and didn’t have to worry about falling and breaking my neck. I prefer to think that it was solely the effect of Girona and nature.

Barcelona and the 40 (thousand) Thieves

My verdict on Barcelona?

Meh.

Not to say it wasn't cool or anything, but I think I was expecting more....actually I'm SURE I was. Everyone kept telling me how cool/spectacular/amazing/orgasmic/etc, etc, etc it was. They even told me they knew I would like it, me especially (whatever that means). Actually, it was more like they commanded me: You're going to love Barcelona...whether you like it or not.

Welp. I'm very underwhelmed after my Barca experience. It definitely isn't my soul-city. Nice city, just not mine.
I'm sure the fact that Barcelona is practically a haven for thieves played a part in my general indifference. Now, I'm from New York City, and I already know that we aint the safest place to be, but damn! In Barcelona, you constantly have to be on your guard and even when you are, shit will still get taken. My roomie? Yup. She got got for her camera AND her phone the second night in. They were both in her purse....which she was wearing...and it was latched shut. How they got in? We don't know.

Apparently, my roomie got off easy. Another girl got her purse straight ripped off her arm. I mean, c'mon son! (I almost want to laugh, cuz like, you really just ripping people's purses off their arms??!! This is what we're doing now?)
Why did everyone who heard that I would be stopping in Barcelona during my vacay tell me to watch my purse and be careful? Walking down the streets of BCN, little old ladies would stop me and warn "Cuida tu bolso!" while simulating the proper way to protect yourself. (If you want to know how, just clutch onto your purse for dear life and look around you with a crazed look in your eyes. That was their demonstration. Probably works. Afterall, they still have their purses)
The whole thing made it hard to relax when I was constantly worried about who was behind me, in front of me, next to me, across from me, under me, on top of me, etc, etc etc.

Thieves of Barcelona, I know it's hard out here and we are all suffering from a recession, but cot damn, can I live?! Can.I.Live?!

So yes, I went to Barcelona and while I enjoyed my time there for the most part, I have no desire to live there and was very prepared when it was time to move on to Valencia.

P.S. I would be wrong if I didn't acknowledge Barcelona's epic nightlife. Ummm, let's just say that my last night in Barca, I didn't sleep, barely made it to my 7am bus to Valencia and when I woke up in Valencia, I was still drunk. Now, imagine that every night, for 5 nights. I'm just happy to be alive.

Back, back, back.

And what a trip it’s been.

Glad to be back at home base, though.

Now, I work for one more week, then jet to the States for another 2 weeks of vacation time.

December has got to be the best month ever.

Zaragoza

Hail Caeser!

Zaragoza is the coolest city. It has Christian, Roman and Arabic roots. Christians came first, built their city, then came the Romans. They kindly took control and of course, built right on top of the former city. But wait, the Arabs came and decided that Zaragoza was in fact their city and you guessed it, they built right on top of everyone else's buildings.

Mercado Central. I decided to take a walk through there early Saturday morning. Damn. It reminded me of a Nigerian market. Crowds of people selling meat, vegetables, other food stuffs and of course screaming and haggling. I had to get out of there ASAP.

A view of the Roman walls from the top of Torreon de la Zuda

A dedication to my lil bro: "No virtual game, play on streets!" Zaragoza definitely had the coolest graffiti.

La basilica de nuestra senora del Pilar!

Can you peep the brightly colored tiles on the domes? They were giving me life. One of the main attractions of Zaragoza....which is why I always gave someone side eye when they asked if I saw the basilica. Ummmm, that's all anyone talks about. How I'mma go to Zaragoza and not see the main attraction.

C'mon son.

But I digress. It was quite beautiful. 

 

Museo del foro de Caesaraugusta.

This plaza was soo pretty and so was that museo. The stone was alabaster and at night it was all lit up.

Can you see me?

A little collage of all the graffitti I saw. Loved, loved, loved it!

This my friends is....bull. Yes, bull.

I must say it wasn't my choice to order this. The only reason I went into this overpriced cafe was because I saw that it said "albondigas in salsa" outside. For those who don't know, albondigas are meatballs! I've had a craving for the longest, so I thought that would be the perfect time to get some. I order the meatballs and await the best meal of my life.

Tell me why my meatballs arrive drenched in almond sauce, complete with said almonds?! Oh hayeelll no! (For those a bit slow on the uptake, I'm allergic to nuts...all of them) So I tell them and they offer me a way to choose something else. In reality, I really just wanted to drink the beer I had and keep it moving, but they were so persistent. So, I tried to pick the steak. Womp womp, they're drenched in almond sauce too. Everything else was seafood, so I was forced to give the bull a try.

My verdict? Errrmm....it wasn't too bad. I didn't finish all of it, that's for sure. It had a distinct flavor, that wasn't unpleasant, but definitely wasn't scrumptious. *sigh*

La Aljaferia! Spain's finest Islamic-era edifice outside of Andalusia.

In the courtyard. My favorite part of the palace

This statue's butt is so big! I just had to take a picture. He's been hitting those squats and lunges....I see you!

"Dislikes…..Africa”

We were playing a game. Each person receives a piece of paper with a little picture and a blank space for Name, Age, Job, Likes, Dislikes, and Hobbies. The objective? To increase vocabulary and creating sentences. I envisioned this exercise to be a bit more interesting because at least the children get to use their imaginations.

The responses started out generic enough. Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly) the children didn’t really understand that they were supposed to use their imagination for this exercise and I found myself listening to them re-introduce themselves. I decided to just take it in stride and corrected the mistakes as we went along. Eventually it was time for one of the girls to share what she had written. Nothing about this child grabbed my attention, she was a generic Spanish child, if there ever was such a thing. At this point, I can’t even remember her name….maybe Mari? No, she wasn’t particularly special. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have remembered her at all if she didn’t read what she wrote that day.

She read her name, her age, struggled to name a job in English and had no problem listing her likes. I’ll admit, I was mostly tuned out when she got to her dislikes. It was almost time for me to leave and I was thinking of what to make for lunch.

“Deeslikes…..Africa”

*Insert record scratching here*

My head snapped up and my screw face was on and ready. Wait…..what?! I looked over at the head teacher and he had an embarrassed look on his face. The other students all turned and looked at her. There was silence.

Then came the barrage of questions.

Head Teacher: Dislikes Africa. Why do you say that?

Guilty girl who dislikes Africa: *shrugs shoulders*

Me: Wait…what?

Another child: You don’t like Africa? Why?

Moroccan child: No le gusta Africa? (speaks to friend while glaring at the guilty girl) 

Head Teacher: Why don’t you like Africa? Have you ever been there before?

Another child: Por la pobreza. Hay mucha pobreza. (Because of the poverty, there is a lot of poverty)

Moroccan child: Si ella no le gusta Africa, no me gusta Europa. (If she doesn’t like Africa, I don’t like Europe)

Head Professor: How can you dislike a whole country?

At this point, I was ready to slap both girl AND professor, because really, Africa is a country!? So I turned to this child and I said, “How can you dislike a whole continent? Especially when you’ve never been there before?” She looked back at me with the most confused look on her face and I had to pull myself back. I was in “it’s-time-to-educate-the-ignorant-one-or-slap-someone-whichever-feels-most-appropriate” mode and this child is still struggling to speak in complete sentences in English. She didn't have answers for us. In fact, she had the nerve to be indignant. I could see the thoughts moving through her mind. “I grace these people with my perfect English and they have the nerve to get riled up and start questioning me. This will be the last time I decide to help them out and participate!”

*sigh*

I’m not surprised at the racism. I know Spain has its own issues with race, as does every other place, but it’s the age of the child that got to me. Her age. Her inability to explain why exactly she hates Africa. Her blindness as to why that particular thought process is wrong. Wrong and dangerous.

I tire of trying to educate every ignorant person that crosses my path. What am I supposed to do?

And I'm back!

Zaragoza was beautiful. All in all, I would dub this past weekend a success.

Highlight reel:

• Being in a city-city again. Logrono qualifies as a city, but it has a town vibe. Whenever I talk about Logrono to my friends, I always say “my town.” It’s to the point that one of my friends asked me about dirt roads. Girl, what?! I live in a city! Everything is paved here, there’s a bus system, and a sizable population, but it’s just the atmosphereof Logrono and when comparing it to NYC, I don’t know, I just get “town.” But walking down the streets of Zaragoza and feeling the people move around me, I just felt “city” again. And it made me very happy.
• The graffitti. Creative and witty. I don’t see that so often anymore. I’ll be posting pictures.
• The architecture and layout of the city. It wasn’t a grid system (which by the way, is my favorite type of city layout), but it was still very easy to navigate. I did a walk-through with a guide and afterwards, I found my way around quite easily, without a map. I love that! I hate being the obvious tourist, walking around with head down, map in hand. Yuck.
• I GOT TO SEE HARRY POTTER…..IN ENGLISH!I’m almost ashamed at how happy I am about this, but I had given up on seeing any movies in Spain, in English. Spain is one of the few countries in Europe that dubs the movies. Usually the movies have the original language and then subtitles in the country’s language. Normally I wouldn’t care, but have you ever watched the Fresh Prince of Bel Air in Spanish? It’s not funny. The timing of the jokes are off and the wording and humor is completely different. I can’t see a movie with those changes! Plus, my spanish is good, but not THAT good. So, I was extremely pleased to see that Harry Potter in the original language was offered…at a discount no less! Blisss!
• This was a cheap trip! I could’ve saved even more if I didn’t eat so much, but I love food and that’s just what it is.

Now, I have to plan a lesson for school tomorrow.

Bleh. I wish the weekend could last forever!

Thanksgiving is coming up and I'm at a loss for how to explain that day to Spanish children.....

I want to tell them the true story about Thanksgiving…in the most simple English sentences possible, but I know I will be at a loss for the questions that will follow.

“So the Pilgrims landed on land already inhabited by Native Americans?”
Yes
“Did they mean to land there?”
“Uhhh…not exactly”
“Did the Native Americans protest? What reaction did they have?”
“Well….a lot of them died from the diseases the Pilgrims brought over….BUT, the few that were left gave the Pilgrims some help, even though the Pilgrims robbed their houses and graves of food and anything else they wanted.”
“That’s nice! Were the Pilgrims grateful?”
“Ummmm….so, for Thanksgiving we eat all kinds of food, all of my family is there and it’s the best ever!”

Oh God.

I had a hard enough time trying to connect why we celebrate Halloween with such enthusiasm, and with as few clothes as possible, when half of us (myself included) don’t even know the history.

This is gonna be fun

.....Fotos?

And I'm back like I never left. Here we go...

My region, La Rioja, is wine region, if you didn't already know. All of the countryside outside of the city of Logrono is made up of vineyards and for the last couple of weeks, the vineyard leaves changed colors just like the trees. The beauty isn't adequately captured in this photograph, because the colors changed so quickly, but jut believe me when I say, it was something to see.

Officially I teach in 5 different schools. One of them is located in Haro, which is pretty well known for their wine. This is one of the main plazas there.

Another view of the plaza.....

This is my school, San Felices de San Bilibio. Definitely one of my favorite schools.

So I haven’t traveled much yet, but best believe those trips are definitely being planned. (Like this weekend...me...Zaragoza...we're gonna make it happen. I know random place, but the hostels I wanted in Madrid and Bilbao were booked this weekend, so I looked at the map annnd the rest is history, but I digress). However, I did go on a short trip to a city a bit more north from me, on the coast, called Donostia-San Sebastián, or San Sebastián for short.

Ummmm, I fell in love with San Sebastian. Granted, I’m biased, because I love any city by the sea, and I’m sure I will fall in love with almost every city I visit, but San Sebastian really is beautiful. So prepare yourself for photos of the sea and such.

Besides the great beach and the sea, San Sebastian also had the greatest aquarium that I've seen in awhile...Actually, I can't even remember the last time I've visited one. Up top is the under belly of a stingray. How cute is that? Ha.

Of course, I had to get Nemo and all his friends.

When I took this picture, I felt like I was in Scotland or something. Does anyone else get that vibe? Could be just me....

I forget what this building was, but it was pretty legit. Also, other Spanish people were taking pictures of it. When in Rome…

I'm saying though...how could you not fall in love with a city with views like this? C'mon son...c'mon.

Here I go...



 I did my best to take a panorama of the view, from the top of this mountain we climbed. Clearly, I love San Sebastian.

And those are the best of the best of my pics right now. We'll see what this weekend brings. I'm praying for sunshine!

Fotos, fotos and more fotos...

This is the Fuente de Hierro (Iron bridge), one of four bridges that passes over the Rio Ebro, which borders the city of Logrono, where I live. I run by the three bridges when I go on my runs here, and it’s always beautiful…even on a cloudy day.

This is the Puente de piedra (stone bridge). I don’t have pictures of the other two bridges, although I really want one of the newest one, which looks really cool at night. But, it’s kinda far, so we’ll see how that goes.

This is further down from the other bridges. I don’t really know if it’s something special, it just looked pretty to me.

This is Plaza Espolon, one of the main plazas in Logrono. Once you pass this plaza, you enter into the older part of the city.

Close up of the statue in Plaza Espolon. Definitely my favorite fountain in Logrono. (That’s saying a lot, because they have fountains everywhere here.)

Cathedral further down from the main plaza. There are a couple of them in town, but I think this is a favorite, because I always see Spanish people taking pictures of it. I decided to follow their lead.

My landlady’s husband decided to bring us this big carton of grapes. They look like the grapes used to make wine, which La Rioja is known for. Ummmm, I hate my landlady, so I threw the grapes away after this picture. They stank.

Lately, I've seen these little old spanish ladies pushing strollers with brown babies.

I’m always tempted to stop them and ask, “Maam, whose child is this?!”

But something tells me that wouldn’t be well received.

Random, but just yesterday I was talking to my roommate about how I haven’t had a lot of meat since I got here. Plenty of bread, not so much meat. And now I crave meat. Like a burger, some chicken, steak: just meat. (I just thought of meatballs and I squealed in delight)

So, when I saw this picture I had to write about it, cuz dammit, I want some.

Picture is property of Clark Mitchell.

Press Play and Join me in the twilight zone

Today in class, the excercise was to listen to this song and fill in the missing words in the lyrics. I didn’t know what song it was going to be. I’m sure I would’ve been better prepared had I known in advance.

The teacher pressed play and the students lost their minds. I’m talking fist pumping, raising the roof, jumping up and down; one girl even imitated a scene from Girls Gone Wild and lifted up her shirt. I’m so serious.

I looked out at that mini-sea of throbbing bodies and I had nothing to say. Did I mention they were between 9 and 10 years old?

I’m living a movie.

The Spanish don't give a damn about my lungs

These people smoke ALL the time. When I say all the time, I mean all.the.time.

Last weekend my friend had to leave the club because the cigarette smoke was making her weak. My time in the club was also not the best it could be. I couldn’t properly two step without looking to make sure someone’s cigarette wasn’t burning a hole into my shirt, pants, or *insert random body part here*. And only the Lord could’ve saved the person if he/she tapped cigarette ash into my hair. Knuck if you buck and I didn’t want that. Lord knows, I didn’t want any parts of that to occur. And so I would two step to the right, look around, make sure it was safe and then two step to the left. And so on and so forth.

I could be in the middle of a conversation with a professor or two, or even a delicious meal, complete with great conversation and they will up and light their cigarette! They light that shit and smoke it, blowing the smoke all in my breathing area. Meanwhile, I’ve lost track of said conversation and am trying to find ways to breathe without inhaling that deadly smoke. Fuck spanish vocab, I’m looking for a way to escape your presence…at least until you finish that cigarette.

I mean, at least ask me if I mind if you light up in my presence. That’s polite, right?! Nah, that thought doesn’t even cross their minds. But best believe every person that has lit up in front of me has asked me if I would like a cigarette. I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard “¿No fumas?” in the most surprised and indigant tone.



Ummmm, nah you can miss me with all that. See, I peeped ol’ dude with the electronic voice machine in those ‘Stop Smoking’ commercials. I like my voice and my throat, ok? I would like the ability to use both until I pass away….from natural causes. I also like my lungs. See how well I can breathe when they’re not filled with smoke??

Ugh. I can’t even touch on how my clothes smell when I leave a cafe or discoteca…or practically anywhere else where you can smoke indoors. Dirty ashtray that has been pissed on doesn’t begin to describe the odor.

Spain, this whole issue of ‘smoking wherever and whenever I please’ is getting in the way of our budding relationship. Wanna reconsider?

"And where are you from?"

So, I’ve started teaching and one of the first things we’ve done is introduce ourselves to each other. I was lucky enough to meet about 6 (8?) Alvaros, 5 Manuels, 15 Marias, 4 Diegos, 5 Albertos, 3 Javiers, 2 Miguels, 2 Lauras and 4 Paulas. (I’m probably exaggerating, but I still take comfort in the fact that I can yell out one of these names and I have a good probability of being correct)

I really love hearing the students introduce themselves in their broken English. They try so hard! It’s very endearing. Their introductions usually go something like this:

“Hello. My name…ees Alvaro. I leeve in…Haro. I have….[teacher interjects: I am or I’m] I’m 10 years old. I have got….one seester (sister) and..one doug (dog). My favorite food ees…hot doug (hot dog)” etc, etc, etc.

“Hello. My name ees Ishmael/Whitney/Cynthia/Sarah. I’m 10..” and so on and so forth.

Except this time, after the student finished his/her speech, a prompt would follow from the teacher: “And where are you from?”

I heard a range of countries from Portugal, Morocco, Pakistan, Cuba, Ecuador (this Ecuadorian boy was the cutest thing I’ve EVER seen) to India, China and Romania. These kids were coming from all over. Hearing the places some of these children traveled from was fascinating, but what really struck me was the way the teachers would subconsciously (hopefully not consciously) single them out. He/she never once asked a Spaniard child where they were from. It was almost understood that the Spaniards didn’t need to be asked, because they belonged.

It bothered me because I can’t recall witnessing that in the States, at least not in any elementary school classroom that I’ve been in. If anything we stressed assimilation, where you come from doesn’t matter, you’re in America now. Besides, race was always more important. After all it is a quick and easy label/box: Black, White, Asian, Hispanic, Other.

But now, after playing around with this idea, perhaps the “where are you from” question isn’t so bad. At least now your cultural/national identity is recognized, right? And you have no need to stop practicing your culture, because everyone acknowledges the difference and keeps it moving. No need to be ashamed. Hmmm….

I could very well be thinking optimistically, but I guess I won’t be able to tell until I spend more time in the classroom.

I heard that about 15 different times each class. And then I heard a different script.

Oh, hey

So. I'm a little late with this blog thing, seeing as I've been in Logrono for ooohh....1 month and a half?

BUT, I have been writing some things, so for now, I'll just post those thoughts and we'll take it from there, ok?

Vale.

Hasta luego, chicos.