The longest Thanksgiving ever

This year I experienced the longest and most festive Thanksgiving of my life. Lasting a whopping two weeks, my days were filled with multiple dinners, family skype calls, presentations and classroom activities. Being that I work at a hospitality and tourism school where cooking, waiting, and restaurant services are taught, Thanksgiving dinner has been integrated into the school as a new kind of yearly tradition. The dinner is prepared by the cooking students and served by the service students. The menu is prepared in English and a traditional meal is ingested by students, staff, and community members.

The two weeks before Thanksgiving were filled with a lot of prep work. Traditional Thanksgiving recipes for green bean casserole, apple and pumpkin pie, and whipped cream were sent by my mom across the big pond, then translated by Chelo and I, and later turned in to the head chef for ingredient shopping. A guest list was prepared with a limit of 50 eaters. I did my research and prepared a power point presentation filled with my preferred version of the few available versions of the "history" of Thanksgiving published throughout the internet (is there any way to know the real origin anyway?). Lets say the week also included a daily panic attack that increased with the passing of every day until Thanksgiving day itself, which was the day of my grand presentation in the school's auditorium.

This was posted in the teacher's lounge:

Speech: Thanksgiving

Given by: Molly Yurick

Complete with microphones, loudspeakers, a blow up projector screen and well over 100 seats, I spoke about the American culture of Thanksgiving to just about everyone in the school is or will study English in the future. As they always say, you learn more about your country, your life, and your culture when you leave it. Things I learned from my research (hell, maybe you'll learn something too): Minnesota produces the most turkeys in the US... Thanksgiving is the biggest traveling holiday of the year... The first Thanksgiving lasted three days and over 150 people attended. Wowza, history!

Thanksgiving was also a day of surprise for my 17 year old group. Their English level is notably lower than my other students, so I made an easier and simpler Thanksgiving presentation for them. Up until Thanksgiving day, I pretended that I didn't speak one word of Spanish except for "Hola, como estas?" and "queeee???" During these two months of understanding when they thought I couldn't, I was pleasantly surprised to find that they always said good things about me in class, never bad things! (Thank goodness!) My favorite was "Molly mola!," which means, "Molly's cool." hahha. So on Thanksgiving day I asked Chelo, my fellow English teacher, if I had her permission to reveal the big secret to them. She told me that yes, it was about time to tell them. I told her to interpret for me (as she always did). "Every one of you must promise that you will continue to speak English to me as you have until now. Promise. Everyone has to promise." And one by one, in what was the cutest thing I have ever seen near-adults do, they raised their hands and declared "I promise." I snuck a video:

And so, in my quickest and most fluent Spanish possible, I blurted out, "So... it turns out I speak a little bit of Spanish." My students whipped their heads back and forth, doubled over laughing, and then ended with a round of applause. "Como mola Molly, como mola!," they proclaimed. This was one of the funniest things I have ever experienced. Even now, reaching the end of December, they still giggle and jaw drop when I speak Spanish to them. They just can't believe it. They spent two months thinking I spoke much worse Spanish than they spoke English. The good lesson that comes out of it though, is that I had to study and to work really, really hard to reach the level of fluency that I have.

Halfway across the world in Robbinsdale, Minnesota, my parents were hosting Thanksgiving with my aunts, uncles, and cousins. Thanks to the good graces of Skype, it was as if I was there in the kitchen with them drinking wine and waiting for the turkey to finish. They sat me at the table and I even won a game of Pokino, the game my family always plays on Thanksgiving.

The Friday after Thanksgiving I was warmly welcomed into the home of a few fellow Americans to ingest a real Thanksgiving dinner. Everyone brought a plate to share, and we engorged ourselves on wine, corn, stuffing, pie... the only thing missing was turkey- we ended up with store bought fried chicken instead. It was all pretty damn close to as delicious as always and it was nice to be surrounded by my fellow ex-pats.

During the week after, classtime was spent making my students tell me what they were thankful for, just like at a real Thanksgiving dinner. My favorite? One student said, "I am thankful I was born in Spain and not in (insert poor African country here)." Then, as a bit more entertaining piece to class, I showed them clips of the only Thanksgiving movie to date: Planes, Trains and Automobiles. Using the infamous car rental clip, I taught them how to use the word "fuck" as a verb, adverb, adjective... the works. They enjoyed that one:

It's great having students that are adults.

Thanksgiving dinner at my school was served the following Thursday, December 2nd. A few of my all-around-the-world pals came to enjoy the meal with me. First course: pumpkin soup. Second course: stuffed turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole and cranberry sauce. Third course: pumpkin and applie pie. Oh, most importantly, it was all accompanied by unlimited red wine. Lets say that for the food, well, they tried their hardest... In the end, it was fun to see my school and loads of people celebrate Thanksgiving.

Gobble, gobble!

Orbayu

It's like a broken record, not that any of us still play records (except for you hipsters and oldies), but the point is that: ever since I had been placed to work in Gijon, all I heard was,

"It rains A LOT. But it's beautifully green."

My first thought process was also a broken record, Crap, it's going to rain all the time and I am going to feel depressed and miserable without sunlight for 8 months straight... It turns out that (surprise?) it does rain quite often, but, (better surprise!) the rain is an on and off again type of rain, and it's not a heavy rain, it tends towards a sprinkle or an orbayu, as they say in the local Asturian language/dialect (I don't want to get into that debate quite yet)... Orbayu is a special word in Asturiano that means something like a light mist or sprinkle. Now, it's important to note that, for example, when I woke up this morning it was raining snow. From my apartment I could hear the rain hitting the patio floor, but when I stepped outside and looked up towards the streetlamps (it's still dark here at 8am), I saw snow. But that same snow, upon touching the ground, transformed completely into rain. No sleet, no shitty, brown mess, just straight up rain. Using my Minnesnowtan knowledge, I took that to mean it was probably around 35 or 36 degrees... not cold enough to snow like it meant it, but not warm enough to simply rain. Anyway, by 10am it was sunny outside, and around noon it rained again. And back and forth rain and sun pendulum went.

I am finding this city to be quite charming and pleasant. I can say that I feel more comfortable here in the North of Spain than I did last year in the South. So far, I have deducted that this is normal because of the simple fact that I honestly believe that "the north" in countries all over the world have things in common, as do "the south." I also honestly believe this is simply due to the fact that the weather impacts your personality, lifestyle, habits, and ways of being in general. Why cold weather makes people more polite, modest, and kind? I don't know. I haven't figured that one out yet. I'm kidding... kinda. The north is just as precious as they told me it would be. Looooove it.

I must now address a topic I've been avoiding because I'm not quite sure how to explain it successfully, because more than a theory or a practice, what I am about to attempt to explain is an experience. So it may be true that Asturian people drink beer, wine and hard alcohol like all other normal people in the world... But Asturians have mastered the most socially entertaining and enjoyable yet sneakily dangerous form of drinking ever: SIDRA. Sidra translates into English as cider, but it has nothing to do with either the non-alcoholic OR the alcoholic version of cider in the US. Here in Asturias, they don't just pour sidra, lo escancian. Escanciar is a special verb used only to describe how sidra is poured. So, it goes a little like this: The waiter (or the drunk idiot on the street) holds the bottle of sider in his/her outstretched arm far over his/her head. The opposite hand is extended all the way down to the knee and holds a wide sidra glass. And, escanciar:

Next, the waiter passes the glass with a thick shot of sidra to the first person in the ordering group who makes eye contact or who reaches for it first. The next step is to CHUG. Note: Sidra is a flat drink and poured from waaay above the head aaaaall the way down to the knees to force some bubbly fizz out of it. Sidra tastes pretty damn convincing if it's bubbly but if it's flat... mmmmm... it's kinda like drinking a flat beer and we all know that's no bueno. The waiter pours a shot of sidra to every person in your group, all in the same cup, and decides when the next round starts. Oh, and when the bottle runs out, they'll bring you a new one automatically, unless you stop them first, that is. Sidra is known for sneaking up on you, too. And, it does. It got me once. I was out like a light only two hours later.

To my new friends who til now have tended to be pretty amazing but still will only be referred to by their nationality cause I think it's entertaining: The Polish, the Belgian, the German, the Canadian and the Italian. Yes, when you say it like that it sounds the the start of a joke. Honestly, with the way we communicate in our strange mix between English, Spanish and the four other native languages involved, our lives sound like a joke. But, it's good. And the only other random thing I can say about summing up why I am loving these people is: "Que hora es??":

Besos,

Molly

Gijón

So, it’s true, I am off again on another adventure to Spain.

I will be working as an English Language and Culture Assistant (again) with the same program (through the Spanish Ministry of Education). Last year I made the tough decision not to renew my position in Jaén, and instead apply to work in a new region. Being as I am, I decided to make my life as difficult as possible by moving as far away from everyone I know in Spain for no particular reason, and so here I am in one of the most northern parts of Spain: Gijón, Asturias. Being a city on “La costa verde” (The Green Coast) on the Bay of Biscay, the weather here is consistently compared to that of the UK. It’s considered as being rainy and “cold” by Spanish standards, but therefore is one of the few areas with truly green open spaces in the country. It’s got a couple of small, scenic beaches where people go surfing year round and even an “old quarter” that I have yet to visit. Oh, and sidra (cider), of course. I’m sure that there will be a post to come when I learn a bit more about the story behind that deliciously awful alcoholic Asturian drink.

In Gijón I am working at a school called, formally, “Centro Integrado de Formación Profesional de Hostelería y Turismo.” A mouthful, yes. In a nutshell, it’s comparable to a Tech College in the US that teaches courses specifically in tourism and hospitality. I will be working alongside two different English teachers, who, surprise, are actually fluent in English! My students are quite a bit older this year- I have one class of 17-20 year olds, while the other classes range from 20 to 40-something years old. This year, all of them already know how to say how old they are, which makes a much easier starting point than last year. In fact, they understand at least half of what I say in class (or so that’s the impression they give). On the first day of classes I believe I taught every class more than I ever could in two months in Cambil. So, I’m already assisting with classes in Catering, Bar and Restaurant Services, and something like Hotel Services. In the school they study everything from room cleaning to reception, wine tasting to baking, French to English, ahh the joys of a fun school! The cafeteria where the students will practice on the public opens soon and I caaaan’t wait!

I am honestly shocked to say that I have been here for two weeks already. I successfully completed my orientation in Madrid, where I roomed with a girl from South Minneapolis, because the world is always really, really small in my life. In Gijón I can say I have successfully made one friend, a Polish girl named Magda who is a human angel, really. She warmly welcomed me into her home through Couch Surfing (a website for travelers) and is letting me stay until I find a place, which has proven to be a bit more difficult than I imagined. Turns out that arriving in Gijón after university classes started in October was a baaaad idea. I’ve called over 50 ads for apartments or rooms and ALL except abouuuut, oh let’s say seven, have been full. I’ve seen a few places, a few good, a few creepy, a few smelly, and am still working on finding the combination between the place and the people that “click.” One more mental breakdown call to my mom and I she just might fly out here to console me (with ulterior motives of traveling in Spain of course), but honestly, I’m hoping that by tomorrow or the next I’ll have a place to call home. I can feel it in my desperate bones. I also have successfully already taken a weekend off from doing nothing to do some more of nothing with a side of heavy drinking during a long, five day weekend… I’m guilty of enjoying life too much. I went to Jaén for “La feria de San Lucas.” It takes about 12 hours to get from Gijón to Jaén on bus, and isn’t exactly cheap either (round abouts 120 euro), but as I expected it was totally worth it. As a group of wailing hooligans, my good friends from last year and some new ones from this year spent four nights in a row de fiesta until at least eight, nine, or ten in them morning, take your pick. Feria in Jaén is like everything a street drinker could ask for. It consists of 70 or so “casetas” (tents) set up in the local fair ground, each caseta holds either a bar, club, or restaurant. It’s like a glorified pub crawl that lasts 24 hours a day for 10 days straight. Everyone’s mom, uncle, and cat goes to Feria. There, I ran into everyone I met last year and it made me slightly sad to not be back in Jaén for the second year in a row. It would have been quite easy to roll back to the same city with the same great friends and even more new ones, but I am looking forward to getting to know a new city, have a new teaching experience, and, well, a new life experience as well.

Ta ta for now,

Molly

Adiooooo

If I am reading myself correctly, I have been avoiding writing this post to put off publicly admitting that the chapter of my life that was Jaén is officially over. I know it's already, umm, September, and that means I have been home for almost three months now, but I have been avoiding finishing this post.

I realize that might sound a bit dramatic, but I spent my last week in olive-land as an emotional insomniac. I cried mostly in inappropriate public places like the discoteca at 5am, the tapas bar in the early evening, the teacher's lounge at school, buying bread on Calle Cerón, the sidewalk in Madrid... and even now in the coffee shop in North East Minneapolis where I write this. Every goodbye seemed monumental... So, in honor of all the people who made every day enjoyable and memorable in Jaén...

To the waiters who served Holly, Amy and I on my very first night in Jaén, and many nights following.

To the baker Javi, better known as "pan-man" between Holly and I. (He bakes the best tasting baguette I've ever even thought about eating.) In the beginning I ate one baguette a day. Once I felt a couple of baguettes begin to circle my waistline, I tried to eat one every two days.

To the secretary at school, Javi, who humored me and my endless questions and thoughts about the Spanish Civil War, post-war and Franco. As a goodbye gift he gave me a book about the Spanish civil war called "La Batalla de Madrid." In this moment the dam broke, saying goodbye to him was when I cried the hardest.

To my private lesson students... First off, Tino and Laura, my favorite kids on the planet thus far. They give me a little hope that maybe not all kids are so bad ;)

And to Maria, a hematologist who taught me that it's never too late to learn another language. Aaaaand that it is possible to fit into a skirt you randomly find from your early 20's when you're 40-something and three kids deep. Ok, or maybe she's just super human, I'm not sure.

To the cook at school who let me join in on her delicious, homemade lunch twice a week with Pepe, the principal, and Javi. Her lunches were usually three courses, consisting of a shared veggie salad covered in olive oil, a main course, a second course, and a fresh fruit or yogurt for dessert, all accompanied by box wine. The kids ate this same wholesome, homemade and well-balanced meal every day (sans vino). It's no wonder American kids are so fat now-- the processed icky fatty foods they serve at lunch are nooo bueno.

To the cafe where breakfast was ingested every Tuesday morning in Cambil. Breakfast usually consisted of coffee, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and toast with tomato and olive oil or pate. Mmmm!

To my middle school students and their fascination with my "Minnesota" power point about ice fishing (lakes freeze?!) and the Polar Plunge (people really jump into a frozen lake?!). The kids prepared a very sweet goodbye day for me, they wrote me letters apologizing for their bad behavior (that was quite a surprise!!), they wrote "Bye Molly!" across the board and even gave me a picture frame and a jewelry box to take home. One of the boys gave me a special gift, a shiny hair clip (oh you bet that got a good load of "oooh" and "ahhh" and kissy sounds from the class). And to Pilar, my fellow and favorite English teacher.

To Morrison's Irish Pub, home to many €1 beer Tuesday nights and the producer of too many hungover Wednesday mornings at school.

To Kharma the discoteca and to Amy, cause these two go hand in hand!

To el barrio, Manuel and Tio Tony. Manuel was a teacher at our school who took us under his wing. He brought us to his barrio (neighborhood) where we got to know his uncle Juan (more commonly known as Tio Tony, cause he looks like MY uncle Tony) and all the staff at this particular bar called "Penalty." For a few months we would wander down to this corner bar and spend all day chatting and drinking. Ooh how we cried on our last stop by Penalty. We sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed.

To three things whose importance cannot be described using a picture.... "la cuesta" (the big f-ing hill) that I lived on top of... the never-ending construction... and relative time schedules.

And last but not least, to the entity that was

"HOLY MOLY"
who forever changed Jaén.

The wanderings of two best friends...

The eventful month of April came to a climactic conclusion with the visit of my beeeest friend in the whole wide world, Rachel. Rachel and I met in third grade and have been the closest of friends ever since. We have always considered ourselves lucky for being blessed with a non-biological sister. It sounds cheesy, but this sisterhood we've created will forever tie us. Due to the general business of life, we can go months without talking much, and when we meet up (whether in our home-sweet-home of MPLS, in her new home in NYC, or in my new home in SPAIN) it's as if we've been together every day since the last day we saw each other. When we're together it's a silly fest... we revert back into our childhoods and behave like the little girls we once were (and still are?). When we're together, there's always an adventure.

So, if you can imagine what it was like when she visited... there was a bit of an adventure everywhere we stepped...

Rachel arrived on the afternoon of the 24th, and (being the trooper that she is) was willing to jump right into our first mini-adventure within a half an hour of arriving. Some friends of mine were heading to el campo, the countryside, for lunch and an "excursion." While driving through the hilly mountains dotted with olive trees, Rachel explained what she believed to be the history of the rocks and the mountains in the area (nerd), which I was completely fascinated by (double nerd). We arrived, sat on stone benches, and ate our homemade bocadillos while Rachel was quizzed about all the famous people she has met through her work at Universal in NYC. After ingesting our makeshift lunch, we were off on an uphill hike to see an old Moorish castle.

Monday we day tripped to the UNESCO World Heritage City of Baeza!
....and Tuesday jointly headed up to Madrid, where we spent an evening shopping...

...aaaaaand the next day we were off to Lanzarote, one of the Spanish Canary Islands. Lanzarote is a tiny tiny island covered in volcanic rock off the coast of Morocco, and is home to just under 140,000 people! It takes only an hour and a half to drive from the most northern tip to the most southern tip, which made it easy to visit every inch within just four days. The first day was spent driving from one end to the other to check out all the small towns and tourist sites. It didn't take us too long to discover that ALL buildings on this island are white with green windows and doors.... I'm not exaggerating when I say ALL. Houses, tourist buildings, the airport, everything is white and green. Why is that?? There's this guy named Cesar Manrique who has a strange and unofficial monopoly over the art and design of the entire island... he was the one who decided that all the houses should boast the same colors and that none should be taller than the tallest palm tree. It gives the island a picturesque, romantic kind of look and feel... but I would say that it's a bit creepy when everything looks identical.


Our main stop was to Cueva de los Verdes (Green's Cave), named for the Green family, the people that supposedly used to own the caves at some point in time. Somewhere between 3-5,000 years ago the caves were formed by dried lava from a volcanic eruption. In the 1960's the caves were decorated with artistic lighting and music and turned into one of Lanzarote's biggest tourist attractions. Who ever would have thought that caves would have great acoustics?



We also stopped by to see some amazing views of Isla Graciosa (Graciosa Island) which is off the North coast of Lanzarote and is home to only 700 people. Eek, imagine growing up there.

Of course, a stop by the a local, family winery was obligatory. There they made white, red and rose wine, along with some other strange variations. Our purchases included a block of the owner's mom's home-made goat cheese and a bottle of cactus liquor-- a sugary bright lime green alcohol made out of the leaves. In all honesty it was terrible. We threw it away.

We ended up in our home base of Playa Blanca late every night. Playa Blanca is an overly touristy town on the Southern coast lined with white sandy beaches packed with mostly English tourists. The vast majority of pubs and restaurants are English, leaving me with the impression is that the English flock to the Canary Islands like Americans flock to resort towns in Mexico. We stayed in a super cheaply priced beach side resort that has, surprisingly, a lot in common with the rockin' resort in Dirty Dancing. How so? For starters, our resort was filled with retired people or children under the age of five. Most days we were woken up around 10am to the sounds of poolside Jock Jams style music on repeat, which included such great tacky resort classics such as "Livin' la vida loca." (But, I have to say, my favorite poolside song was one with a laugh track built into it...) Bingo and darts were the most exciting daytime activities, and at night there was a live singer or two doing mediocre covers of everything from Alicia Keys to Bryan Adams. The (more than likely underpaid and tortured) performers were surrounded by retirees sitting in lined up couches watching out of sheer boredom while some of the more outgoing seniors danced along, giggling their hearts out. Oh, there was also a "SHOW ROOM" that, on one particular night, was hosting a show called "Lord of the Dance." Yes!

The highlight of the trip was our visit to the Papagayo beaches, known for being the best on the island. Safeguarded by a natural park, the beaches are quiet and untouched by the cafes, umbrellas, garbage and loud city noises that sometimes plague normal city beaches. We went to the last and most hidden beach in the park and enjoyed a peaceful, quiet, nude day under the sun. That's right, we went to a nude beach and partook. It was quite liberating actually-- it was a totally new way to experience the beach and the ocean! On my days on the beach I usually tend to miss at least one spot with the sunscreen... and this time it was the top of my feet. I think I got lucky, considering.


Our last two side events were a trip to visit Timanfaya Park and another to ride camels. Timanfaya Park was a little bit of a let-down, as it consisted of a 45 minute bus ride through dried lava and volcanic rock. There were some neat sites to see... the way the lava dried was really cool- but by bus wasn't the best way to experience the unique views. Now, a great way to experience the views of Timanfaya is by camel. Rachel and I were seated on the tallest and proudest camel of them all. The ride was a short ten minutes but that was enough camel for me.

Wander on, wander on....

But it's not TIME to eat...

Now that my time in Jaén is wrapping up, it's time for me to express some... cultural differences... I've come to notice in my time here. The first and most important being about food, of course.

"¡Pero no es la hora de comer!" = "But it's not the time to eat!"

The Spanish eating schedule is extremely fixed. Breakfast is whenever you wake up and usually consists of coffee and a piece of toasted baguette bread with something on top (ham? cheese? tomato? pate?). Lunch, their biggest meal of the day, must begin between 1-3pm. A light snack (optional) is eaten somewhere around 5-6pm. And dinner? Sometime after 9pm. If you eat anywhere outside of those boundaries, it's "NOT the time to eat." The majority of people seem to get really nervous and confused when you eat outside of schedule. How strict are they on this whole "time to eat" thing? Here are some examples...

This is what a bar looks like when it's closed... =(

1. The vast majority of bars that (normally) serve food CLOSE their kitchen, and sometimes their doors, from 2-8:30pm. Grocery stores also close at 2pm and don't re-open until 6pm... meaning... if you wake up late, or get a late start on the day, and happen to not have any groceries in the house, you WILL go hungry until something opens.
2. When I was visiting my friend Nacho in Barcelona over New Years, we were out until sunrise drinking and partying. The next day his family was having a New Years day lunch (remember, biggest meal of the day) starting at 1pm. Well, we woke up late and headed over there around 4 or 5... What was the first thing they said upon our arrival to lunch? Grandma: "It's a little LATE to be eating, don't you think?" Aunt: "Dear god it's late to eat..." Other Aunt: "I think it's too late for you to eat..." Really?...but we just woke up...
3. Holly and I invited a couple of teachers over to have a taco dinner at our house. I told them they could come when they wanted (as it doesn't tend to matter to Americans at what time we eat, just that we do it eventually, when we're hungry) and they insisted I choose the hour. So, I decided 7pm. Response? "7pm??! Buut, that's soooo early. How about 8pm, at the earliest." So, 8pm it was. They arrived on time, and the third thing out of their mouths? "One of my friends stopped by my house today with merienda (the "snack" eaten around 5pm-ish) but I had to say turn down what she brought for me because I had plans to eat dinner really, really early today." Really??
4. One Sunday afternoon, Holly, Amy and I woke up with a slight hangover around 3pm with empty stomachs and no groceries. We stupidly decided to venture out into the empty streets of Jaén on a Sunday (everything is closed on Sunday) at 4pm (kitchens still closed for another four hours) to look for food. We had made plans to meet up with some Spanish guys for coffee at 5pm, and we immediately asked them to take us to food. His response? "But it's not TIME to eat... it's 5pm!!" Really?! Yes, really. We explained our hangover/no food situation and he took us to a bocadillo place that was, miraculously, open on a Sunday at 5pm.
   

"Pero... cuando comeis en Estados Unidos" = "But... at what time do you eat in the US?"

It's been a challenge explaining to Spanish people that we don't have "a time" to eat our meals in the US. You just eat when you 1. have time 2. are hungry 3. feel like it. Now, it's fair to say that we have a general outline for meals... breakfast between 8-10am, lunch between 12-1pm and dinner somewhere between 5-7pm. But I will say that in America, if you are hungry at 3 in the afternoon, no one is going to call you crazy for it... and you won't have trouble finding things open.

Jamón ibérico = Cured ham.
Most restaurants sport a few of these on their walls
and regularly shave of pieces to serve to customers. Mmm.

"¿Te gusta la comida espanola? Es la mejor comida del mundo..." = "Do you like Spanish food? It's the best food in the world..."

This is my favorite Spanish person question... my response usually is, "Yes, I like it. But it's hard not to like olive oil, potatoes, ham, cheese, and baguette bread..." The Spanish diet is a simple diet based (basically) on the things I've listed above. Yes, I like Spanish food, but sometimes there is such a small variety in the foods they eat I get bored. I mean, c'mon, their hamburgers are made out of chicken. At the school I work at the principal and secretary invite me to eat lunch with them, and this way I have been able to try a ton of delicious homemade traditional Spanish foods-- and I really enjoy them-- but I will be honest and say the variety of foods is pretty small and that Spanish gastronomy is far from the best in the world.

Tons and tons of Extra Virgin Olive Oil at a co-op in Jaén.

"Que normalmente comes en los Estados Unidos?" = "What do you normally eat in the US?"
This question, for me at least, is a hard one to answer. I have tried to explain to people that in a normal week I could ingest a vast variety of foods, anything from Italian, Mexican or Chinese... to hot dish, hamburgers, "Mac and Cheese" or pizza! The response I usually get is, "Yea, you could, but what do you normally eat?" and when I respond with "I guess I'm not quite sure" I get the Spanish look of "I can't believe you don't know what you eat..." because Spanish people know what they eat and they are proud of it!


What the Spanish do have down is a healthy, complete diet. Fruit is considered dessert after lunch and fresh salads filled with tomatoes, onions and olives topped with only olive oil and a splash of vinegar are common for starters, meaning vegetables and fruits are not an enemy but a friend. The kids at school eat full salads for lunch every day. Imagine, if instead of nasty bagged salad with withering radish and carrot slices drenched in ranch dressing served in public school lunches in the US, there were fresh salads with fresh veggies inside! And topped with only olive oil!! How can they do it?? Here in Spain, these things are affordable! Today I went to the market across the street from my place and bought 5 tomatoes, 3 bananas, 2 oranges, 2 small heads of lettuce, 4 full carrots and an onion for a whopping €3,50 (about $4). Oh, and olive oil? Being that Jaén is the largest olive oil producer in the world, 5 liters (well over a gallon) costs €12. Imagine how the rate of obese people in the US could drop if fruits and veggies and other healthy things were made affordable! Here in Spain, a bag of chips costs more than a bag of apples...

The other positive to the Spanish diet is eating a large meal in the middle of the day. This way, by the time "dinner" rolls around, you're still not even that hungry... and if you are hungry a yogurt or a fruit or a small bowl of cereal (although a Spanish person would not eat cereal after breakfast time, probably) will suffice to hold you over until breakfast the next day.

Oh, and how can I forget the wine. Wine is goooood n' cheap here. The most expensive bottle at my nearest supermarket is a massive 3€. My favorite wine moment in Jaén? I was at the grocery store and there is this elderly lady was in line in front of me to check out. She had a bottle of wine in hand and asked the man in front of her, "Is this a good bottle of wine?" "Yeah, for someone who likes regular wine, it's good," he responded. "Okay, I was just wondering, because this one is 2€, and I figured I could get one of the cheaper ones, you know, the ones that cost .60 cents, but I thought I would go for a nicer one instead... because it's a gift for someone." hehhee.

It's 2pm, and I already ate my lunch at 11am. I am not adapted to the Spanish eating schedule. Shame on me un-assimilated American, shame.

Francisco Franco, what a guy...

Since my arrival in Jaén, I have found that I thoroughly enjoy talking to people about social issues, whether it is history, tradition, or modern culture… in any and every form. Issues that creep into my conversations with Spaniards are national identity (or a lack of identifying with the nation), socialism, health care, immigration and Franco (the fascist dictator that ruled Spain for a whopping 40 years). I guess maybe I should have majored in social-science or history or something. I find all of these topics fascinating and I learn endless amounts of interesting things when I talk to people about it. I think today I’ll focus on my conversations with Spaniards on Franco. I’ll leave other themes for another day.

After a short but bloody civil war between the fascist “Nationalists” and the democratic/communist “Republicans” from 1936-1939, nationalist Francisco Franco took power of Spain. Franco was, for the next 40 years, a dictator: a fascist, nationalist, Catholic, military general who ruled until his death in 1975. After the civil war the Nationalist government started their revenge upon former Republicans… This included Republicans themselves, mere sympathizers to the Republicans, or even family members or descendants of Republicans. (Here, Republicans are liberal.) Now, this punishment came in many forms socially, both from the ruling fascists and between the Spanish people. Many “Republicans” couldn’t find a job because employers were either too afraid to hire them because of possible consequences, or didn’t want to hire them simply because of their past political views. Problems also existed with the police, as many “Republicans” were jailed or forced into exile. The Catholic Church played a pretty large role in the power of Franco both during and after the war as well, as there was no separation between Church and State. It is said that the Church ran orphanages during Franco’s rule where children of “Republicans” were sequestered and raised there, often suffering physical and sexual abuse. Your past political association also affected your food rationings. A republican past meant you were hungry. One night my friend Tomás commented that his Grandpa always eats his baguette bread dipped in wine, because not too long ago, all there was to eat was bread and wine. Women lost all the rights they were previously guaranteed in the more modern 1931 constitution. All political parties and political activism were outlawed during Franco. It was illegal to speak any language other than Spanish, which was specifically oppressive to the bilingual regions. In Catalonia they speak Catalan, in Galicia, Gallego and in Basque Country, Basque. There was even a law saying that no more than three people could talk in a group on the street at once. If there were four, you were yelled at and threatened by the police. It seems the sum of the story is: if your family was Republican, you suffered during Franco’s rule. If you were Nationalist or neutral, you lived just fine during his rule.

Upon his death in 1975, Spain made a pretty quick transition to democracy. At the time there was a really strange social-political agreement between the people of Spain and the government to “forget it” in order to move on quickly to democracy. Unlike the cultural-historical documentation on Nazi Germany and the Dirty War in Argentina, the Spanish Civil War and Dictatorship is still left unspoken within the family and the school system and not as well documented or well-known because of his unofficial pact of silence. It wasn’t until 2007 that the Spanish government formally denounced Franco and his regime. Along with denouncing the regime, the government promised to help dig up mass graves and put names to the thousands of unidentified bodies buried around Spain during the Civil War and the post-war times. I say “help” because the process is currently being carried out mostly by college student volunteers.

There were, and still are, many supporters of Franco. Franco and the Catholic Church worked together as a ruling entity during the dictatorship, and therefore religious people lived quite comfortably during the dictatorship. Throughout numerous weekend stops to the bar down the road with Tio Tony (“Uncle Tony,” Manuel’s uncle), I have discovered that he is one of many Franco supporters. He says Franco lifted up Spain, and even sports a photo of Franco on his cell. I read in a BBC article (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/5192228.stm) that 50% of Spaniards admit they haven’t spoken about Franco in the home, and 35% say they haven’t talked about it at school. When talking to teachers at my school, they admit that Franco and the civil war is not studied, and if it is studied, it’s a very brief overview that doesn’t speak of the horrors of the war or of the fascist regime.

Now, why is it that Franco remains unspoken, not studied, and not dealt with personally or within the Spanish family? There are honestly thousands of factors that would contribute to this social silence but I think there are still lots of living supporters of Franco and his ideology, which makes it a touchy subject to teach in school and to talk about within the family. Also, I'd kind of assume there is still a strange after-affect of fear lingering in society. Forty years is a long dictatorship and it affected a lot of people negatively while it affected others positively. Also, the “forget it” law passed after Franco died has held strong…. I am super curious to see if this unspoken war will soon appear in textbooks and museums and other public places. If it does, it will be fascinating to see how it is spoken about and what will be considered the "official" text-book history of what happened.

The most interesting and gossipy of all? Hitler was, rumor has it, once quoted calling Franco "crazy."

Cheste

A couple of weeks ago I headed to Cheste to visit my old host family from when I was in Spain in 8th grade. I thoroughly enjoy keeping in contact with old contacts. It's such an experience to go back and see people I met when I was only thirteen years old, all who remember me as "THE American girl that stayed with Maria Jose for a week nine years ago." My time there is marked by Maria Jose's baby cousin who was born the first time I was there and is now big nine year old girl! How strange... Time flieeeeessssssssss... and flies... and flies...! And the most surprising? To find a couple still dating from when they were 15 years old...

Where the accents sound fake...

ENGLAND.

A couple of weeks ago I headed to England to visit my cousin Bill for the weekend. We ate a couple of deliciously filling, hearty meat pies and fish and chips, and I thoroughly enjoyed locally brewed ales in a number of pubs. These are the non-food and drink related things we saw in England....

So, obviously, this is Stonehenge. It was a little disappointing on the "WOW" factor you would think it might have, considering it's a "World Wonder," but it was still cool to see nonetheless. There was a free audio guide provided with the entrance ticket which pretty much summed up to "We have no idea why Stonehenge is here.... We don't know... We're not sure... We don't know..."


Bath is a city that could never be described in photos or words. It is just as beautiful as everyone describes it as, and I absolutely loved these chimney tops. It reminded me of Mary Poppins. We took the cheesy, bright red, double floored tourist bus for the day, and it was actually quite informational and entertaining. I do recommend them if you've got one day to spend in a city with lots to see. The most interesting piece of information learned?: the dresses women wore back in the day (17th century, I believe) could be up to three meters (9 feet) wide. The tour guide claims this is where the tradition of men holding open the door for women came from-- because no matter how far the woman reached, she couldn't reach the door handle!

On my last day in England we headed to Oxford. It is in this city where I found my favorite local beer. After six months of drinking what I think may be the worst beer on the planet, Cruz Campo, I was thrilled to enjoy a number of real tasty beers. Nummmmm.


Ta ta for now

To Portugal and back

This spring break my mom came to Spain and we took a little road trip to Portugal and back. It started off a bit rough in Madrid... My mom´s flight arrived to Madrid three hours before my train arrived from Jaén. We had decided to meet up at the metro stop closest to Tomas´ house (where we were going to stay for a night before starting our drive). Of course, when I arrived to the metro stop she wasn´t there. We apparently had a little miss-communication about how long she should wait for me there... I said wait til 11am, she thought til 10:30am, I arrived at 11am. Well, by 10:45am she had assumed I had missed the train and wasn´t coming... so she left the metro stop and wandered to Tomas´apartment (Tomas was out of town) where no one spoke enough English to know to give her the keys to his place... so, she wandered the English-less streets of Madrid, bouncing between bars and shops trying to ask for an internet cafe in an attempt to call me. I waited for her at the metro stop until 11:30am, then headed to the apartment, then to the cafes near his place, then back to the metro stop, where an hour later, I found her standing in front of the metro stop on the verge of tears! For those of you who read my blog from last time I was living in Spain, something very similar happened to me when I went to Paris. (I was supposed to meet my friend at the Paris airport but we landed at two different airports... I couldn´t find the hotel... I found him on a random street corner a couple hours later...) After this little hiccup, the trip was flawless... well... besides the fact that we spent half the trip sick with head colds.

On a happier and more successful note, our first night in Madrid was spent going to a drag show, a professional drag show. I'm not talking "Gay 90's" style where the girls get up on stage and lip sync to tacky songs... I'm talking about a drag show in a real theater on the main strip of the city doing a hilarious comedy act (accompanied by song and dance of course) type of show. It was hilarious! "Dolly" is one of Tomas' friends and proved to be very talented and extremely entertaining. I have a totally new view on drag shows and hope to attend another one in this style another day. For those of you who speak Spanish, you should check out Dolly on YouTube.

The following afternoon we headed out for our six hour road trip to Lisbon. We made one pit stop on the way to a town called Talavera de la Reina- a Spanish city known for it's ceramics. For those of you who know my mother, she makes amazing ceramics which adorn our entire house. We stopped in a few shops to "ooooo" and "ahhhh" at the beautiful pieces and continued on our way. This shop owner told us he sells ceramics to New York City and to "the place with all the Cubans..." I'm assuming he meant Miami.


To drive into Lisbon you have to cross a beautiful, San Francisco Golden Gate looking bridge which spits you into the center of the city. We arrived after dark and drove in agonizingly frustrating circles around Lisbon until we finally found a hotel to stay at. We spent a couple of days wandering the streets of this truly charming city. It is the simple things that makes this such a great place to visit... The main pedestrian walkways are decorated with colored cobblestone arranged in cute designs. The narrow and steep streets still sport old, yellow trolleys that climb through ancient looking neighborhoods. (A couple of lines are always jammed with tourists but they are otherwise still used by local people as a legit form of transportation.) And the people were kind, so kind. Waiters and bus drivers, shop owners and plagued by non-Portuguese speaking tourists every day, were smiley and friendly... and the majority of them put up with my pathetic stuttering of the little Portuguese I do know. My favorite part about Lisbon was spending time admiring the tiled houses houses. I've never seen houses and buildings look like they do in Portugal.

The following two nights were spent in a small town a couple of hours north of Lisbon, called Aveiro. This tranquil town has a lot of quirky things to it that make it a neat place to visit. First off, it's nicknamed "The Venice of Portugal" for it's cute canals and colorful boats. Second, the beach front part of town is decorated by striped houses that make it look like Candy Land!! Mom commented, "It's silly that something as small as striped houses make you want to visit a place..."


On the way back to Madrid we stopped for one night Salamanca, Spain. The University of Salamanca is the oldest university in Spain, founded in 1218. During my middle school trip to Spain, we visited this university, and it was the place that made me want to go to college in Spain. It has a beautiful old library that I was mesmerized by when I was only 12 and am still enchanted by today. This time around I visited the library alone, by chance there were no other tourists visiting the university at the same time as me. I spent a good half an hour staring into the library, wondering who studied there, what kind of books were in there, and what it must smell like to be around all those old things (you "enter" the library by walking into a glass box, the library is air tight to protect all the old books).

Semana Santa (Holy Week) in Spain is a pretty big deal. Every day of the week there are a number of religious processions that run through each city. Every church usually has their own procession with it's own theme, it's own colors, and it's own statues and thrones. In Salamanca we happened to be situated perfectly in the window of a cafe as a procession passed by. It was quite the spooky site, as the people's costumes resemble those of the KKK (according to wikipedia they are not found to be related in any way). This procession started in a chilling silence, with rows of people walking slowly in front of a statue of Jesus. Later on came a full band with intense percussion, followed by a statue of the virgin Mary. These processions can last anywhere from two to eight hours and people of all ages participate.

I saw another procession in Jaén on Easter Day. In this procession I was surprised to see that there were people underneath the thrones walking barefoot. When I asked a teacher about this, she explained that people do it to show their Catholic dedication, and that when she was a kid, there were people who walked on their knees through the whole parade. The whole walking on the knees thing has since been outlawed because it was too gruesome for such a popular family and community event.

Stay tuned... Next up is... ENGLAND