The rain.

The rain.

It's astonishing how the rain can cut Swiss cheese style holes into your chest, squeeze your heart out like a gooey liquid, and dance the hokey pokey on top of it until you don't feel like getting out of bed anymore.

It's not that I don't like rainy days, in fact, every once in a while I enjoy taking advantage of a rainy day... I'll take the excuse to stay inside, curled into a blanket covered ball while watching tacky love movies without having to feel guilty about it. The smell of the rain can be absolutely cleansing... bringing a peace of mind and tranquility like none other. The sensation of the soft dew coupled with the smell of damp mud. The sound of rain tapping on the windows and rooftops. But these occasions are a typical springtime bliss that only exist in my Minnesotan memory. The sound of rain pattering on the windows here sounds like the brother of the apocalypse to me. Why?

There is this weather thing going on here in Asturias that is just mind twisting.

It rains for two weeks. Then is sunny for a day. Then, rains for two weeks. Then is sunny for two days. Then rains for two weeks. I think you get it. That is winter here. I'll admit there is nothing more forgiving than a sunny day in the middle of January, and Asturias gives you a few of those every once in a while. Only yesterday we peaked at a heavenly pleasant 65 degrees! Fabulous. In a matter of seconds the sunshine fills those Swiss-cheese holes right up. But then, right as your heart is coming back into place, the rain punches through those freshly sealed holes, squeezes your newly mended heart out again, and vengefully dances the hokey pokey on top of it, this time until it collapses from exhaustion. Sigh. And this is today. Let's start week three of rain, people.

Huelga General, my ass!

Today, November 14th, 2012, marks the second "Huelga General" in Spain this year.

"Huelga General" can be roughly translated as a "General Strike," which makes absolutely no sense in the English language, so I'll explain. Every once in a while when Spanish people get fed up enough with any political situation or change, they plan a huelga general. These have been going on for few decades in Spanish history, and have, on certain occasions, sparked changes in politics, law and/or society. Horray for striking and protesting! Horray! Sometimes it works. I don't know what they did in the past, but I'll tell you what they did today.

This "general" strike consists of people all over the country, regardless of where they work or what kind of business they run, going on strike for the day. Jobs don't penalize for participating, but they, of course, don't pay their politically active employees for the day. If people are feeling really passionate, they join a protest in the center of the city, which usually consists of a march, some vandalism and a couple of arrests. Shouting, chanting, drum banging, and fire-cracker throwing are all a must.

It's organized, mostly, by the unions (which work totally different than in America, hard to explain). The unions spread the word by littering propaganda on the street (they literally throw it in the street and cover all the sidewalks with flyers), and by vandalizing... yes, they spray paint the streets and buildings to advertise the huelga general. Okay, I suppose the unions don't directly spray paint the streets, but I guess their members and supporters do, which is too much negativity for my liking.

It's a strange concept. No one goes to work, small businesses close, kids don't go to school, and it sends a big fat message to the government that people aren't happy. Now, it's not a bad idea, considering that: that day the government won't make any tax money on items sold because almost everything is closed and therefore nothing will be sold (which totally makes sense for businesses during an economic recession). I guess it takes a big hit on giant electricity companies (because none of the closed stores have their lights on). It shows that lots o' people don't go to work in protest (although, c'mon, what Spanish person wouldn't take off a day of work just for the hell of it?). And that small businesses also act out in solidarity by closing.

I mean, this strike is not totally uncalled for. Actually, it's not uncalled for at all. I suppose you all know that Spain's economy is super far down the shitter right now. And what a better way to fix that problem than by closing all the stores and make the economy come to a complete standstill for an entire day!!! Okay, a part from the fact that I think the entire strike is a kinda bad idea...

This strike doesn't realistically demonstrate how many businesses want to close during an economic recession to support a huelga general because of one important thing...

An important activity that forms part of the many marches and protests that are taking place all over Spain today is the forcible closure of businesses! Yup, you heard right. Your right to stay open and choose not to participate doesn't exist at all! If you refuse to close your business today, expect broken windows and vandalism. If you have a cafe, don't worry, the terrace with all your chairs and tables will be destroyed by the protesters (this was one of the many videos on the daytime news today). Today, I saw small business owners being threatened, "If you don't close now, you know what's coming later..."

So, those small shops (and big shops!) who wanted to stay open this morning were closed by force or threat today. I talked with three small business owners today, all of which said they closed their doors for two reasons: 1. for fear of vandalism and 2. because insurance companies in Spain don't cover damage due to a huelga general. If conditions were normal, if this were at all a democratic kind of strike, they would have happily stayed open and tried to make some money today. So, you wanna stay open? Risk a few hundred or thousand euros in damages and then pay out of pocket. And those unions who protect workers rights? They only seem to protect them if you agree with them...

And, as I have understood, when these protesters come and forcibly close your business, they stick this lovely red sticker on your front window (which probably never ever comes off), which reads: "Closed by the huelga general."




Today, I'm angry. I swear I've had this burning sensation in my chest all day. To see all these small business closed by force! Businesses that I know are struggling to survive this recession by any means possible! It makes me sick. And sad. Our right to protest and to strike is sacred, as is our right not to protest and strike!

This is the least democratic form of democracy I have ever seen.

A couple of weeks ago Pelayo and I ventured off to Hamburg, Germany, for a very happy reunion. The multi-national group of friends I formed a part of while living in Gijon reunited for a week in this busy city to celebrate our favorite German's 25th birthday. We were a big, jolly group: one Polish girl via Tanzania, two Italians, three Spaniards, a few Germans, one English girl and, well, yours truly.

The whole group

I can honestly say that I've never been to a city quite like Hamburg. Really. It's true.

Hamburg is big! I didn't realize it is the second biggest city in Germany after Frankfurt. On top of that it's got one of the biggest and most important ports in all of Europe. Prostitution is pretty "in," along with lots o' immigration and a party central that far beats that of Amsterdam. It's got winding canals, an old town, a new town, a gay town, and just about everything else you'd like to see in any town. So, I am really wondering why I'd never really heard of Hamburg before meeting Moritz (the German, Hamburger, birthday-boy).

First thing's first. The biggest tourist attraction in Hamburg is the port. When you ask "What's there to see?," the locals will point you in the direction of the massive port to gawk over a number of vistas. The port is so huge that you can go to various different neighborhoods to catch a peek from a million different angles. But the best view of the port is seen from... the beach, of course! Hamburg has this absolutely stunning, seemingly man-made "beach" built up on the canals of the port. And, some of the most beautiful German houses I've ever seen sit right behind it's shore... all windows pointing towards this buzzing industrial port. Strange, yet somehow pretty. Not sure how they manage to make it hip and elegant, but they do.

So, head to the port's shore, wrap up in a blanket provided by your bar of choice 

and enjoy a gluvine (mulled wine) while you watch the cargo ships go by in 30 degree weather.

This port-shore-beach was my highlight of the trip. (Besides eating, that is.)

The food in Germany is cheeeap and goooood! The few times we went out for lunch or dinner, the bill never, ever surpassed 15 euro per person, with beer and food and dessert and all sorts of happiness included. Sausages, baked potatoes, schnitzel, more potatoes, more meat, more beer... mmmm!



So, I've been to Germany a few times now. I've visited Munich, Berlin, Dusseldorf, Trier, and how Hamburg. I have to note that every time I go to Germany I feel more and more at home. In the end, most Minnesotans have some kind of German descendant (I've got a German descendant or two) and I can see parts of our Minnesota present that definitely come from Germany. Home sweet home! The whole meat and potatoes thing? Totally German! Meatloaf? German. Beer? (You know us Minnesotans like beer), German. The only thing that is not really Minnesotan that Germans have is a pair of extra balls in wintertime. All over Germany, all winter, the balconies and terraces and outdoor restaurants are open and actually have people sitting in their chairs enjoying beer or ice cream or dinner or whatever their little frozen hearts desire! When we were at this port side beach, freezing our asses off, there were lots of Germans just chillin' and enjoying... the cold? The views? They're outdoors all year round!


Now, for a dramatic theme change, lets move onto the whole prostitutes thing. We were staying in a pretty shady, yet somehow safe, neighborhood covered in the cheapest prostitutes in the city. Every four steps there was some woman, standing alone, waiting patiently in the cold for a customer. Kinda weird. That same neighborhood was full of Turkish dudes roaming the streets. Turks are the largest immigrant group in Germany, and in this neighborhood they were accompanied by a wide variety of African immigrants.

The prostitution doesn't stop there. It extends into the famous St. Pauli neighborhood, down a side street off the Reeperbahn. This is the Amsterdam-style prostitution street in Hamburg. It's one solitary street that's blocked off on both ends, with a giant sign forewarning you that women and boys under the age of 18 cannot enter. Men only. (They should prohibit entrance to married men, too.)

The prostitute street block-off

The Reeperbahn in the name of the main party street in Hamburg. It's full of bars, sex-shops and fast food restaurants. The streets are jam packed with party-goers of all kinds, definitely rivaling Amsterdam's red light district on all levels. The Reeperbahn was filled with strip clubs, sex shops and tacky, techno-bumping clubs. The side streets off the Reeperbahn each had their own character. Fancy going to hipster bars all night? You got it! We stopped in a bar that was set up like a house from the 60's- sofas, various rooms, and filled with lots-o-Ray Ban glasses wearing hipsters. From ritzy to dive-bar style joints, in St. Pauli you can find your place.

So, Hamburg's got it all. A teeny, tiny bit of everything. The only shitty thing is the weather- which the Germans don't seem to mind too much...

Ta-ta for now.

The flu?

Yesterday I, unfortunately, got really, really sick with the flu. You all know what that means, right? Puking, pooping, misery. If I told you I had gastroenteritis, would you know what that meant? Well, it means puking, pooping, misery.

When I got sick yesterday I had to cancel a couple of tutoring lessons, saying that I felt quite sick and couldn't go. Their responses were (in Spanish of course), ''Oh, you probably have gastroenteritis! That's going around...''

I'm like, umm, what's gastroenteritis? And so I look it up at my new favorite website, mayoclinic.com, and find this: ''Viral gastroenteritis- often called stomach flu...'' And all my little head stars start to flash and I start to realize that all this time I thought when people here referred to gastroenteritis, I figured it was some upset stomach thing, but not THE stomach flu! 

And here, in Spain, when you're sick with a head cold, they call it the flu (gripe). I was always confused as to why people were telling me they had the runs when they were actually stuffy and coughing. Here I am thinking Spaniards don't know the names of common illnesses, that they confuse head colds with stomach flues.

So, upon this gastroenteritis discovery, I decided to check out mayoclinic.com's definition of influenza (flu). To my surprise I read this: ''a viral infection that attacks your respiratory system.''

So all my other head stars start flashing and I start to connect other dots. In Spanish (and English, really) varicella is the real, medical term for what we like to call ''chicken pox.'' And everyday, normal people here call it varicella. Turns out Spanish is quite more practical in that sense. They just call things as they are. In English we seem to like to switch up words and definitions, make it real confusing.

So, why do we do it? Is varicella so hard to say? Why do we have to call it chicken pox? And why do we use the word ''flu'' to describe gastroenteritis when it is really better refers to a head cold?

And I hope I'm not the only one who was unaware that gastroenteritis is the stomach flu... cause if I am this entire post is kinda silly.

Here's to keeping food down... ta ta for now!

THE Crisis

Here in Spain they refer to the economic recession as "la crisis," or "the crisis."

It's a big f-ing crisis. And it just keeps getting worse.

When I graduated from college in 2009, I was told I was a part of the most unlucky graduating class ever. Job openings had never been less open, and the recession was in full force. I was lucky enough to "get out" of the states and end up in Spain, teaching English, where "the crisis" was present, but at least I had a job. Everyone at home was talking about how they couldn't find jobs, how they were all disgracefully living with their parents and how they could see no money-light at the end of the tunnel except for AmeriCore and Starbucks. The daily conversation was the downfall of the economy and how it was all going to the crapper.

Here we are, in 2012, and all those same friends who were jobless and living at home are now working and independent. No one talks about how bad the economy is and things are looking much more up than down. Everyone knows the housing market will take a while to get back on its feet, but at least people are working. And people are buying houses!

Here in Spain, every day things get worse. And the recently elected president doesn't seem to be helping much. The new administration has made it easier for a company to lay you off, has cut civil servant pay a lot (I'm keeping it simple) and has just increased VAT (value added tax) to 21%. National unemployment is hoovering around 25%. Every single day I take part in at least three conversations about how bad things are right now. Just about everyone I know is unemployed or holding onto their jobs with dear life.

Pelayo owns a bar here called "Rocket Rock Club," an American rock n' roll style joint that has quite a following here. It's unique in the sense that it plays good music and is decorated in it's own special way (complete with a MN license plate of course). I can't really explain how bad things have gotten here except by example. When I started working at Rocket in March of 2011, there were six bartenders working on a Saturday night from midnight to 6am. We would be running up and down the bar making drinks and tapping beers all night long. A number of times in the night we'd run out of glasses and have to open new boxes of them to re-stock the shelves. Five hours would pass without even a second to look at your watch to see the time. Around 5am, someone would announce that it was almost closing time. Cut off is at 5:30am, and we were outta there by 6. Now, a year and a bit later, on a Saturday night there are three bartenders, four when we hope it will be a busy night. I now wear a long sleeve shirt to work because I know I most likely won't work up a sweat. The six hours til closing won't pass. Ever. Nights are eternal. Boring. Empty. On average we sell 30-40% less than we did last year. And the worst part is that Rocket bar is known for being successful in comparison to other bars in town. It still has a following and still has some patrons during the weekend. So, I can only imagine how bad it is for our liquor-vending neighbors.

So, you walk around Oviedo on a Saturday night two years ago. It's packed. Full of ambiance and life. Everyone's drunk and having a gay old time. Bars are packed- all of them... even the crappy ones. You walk around Oviedo on a Saturday night now and the streets are more than half empty, along with all the bars and restaurants. No one goes out to dinner anymore, and going out for a drink frequently involves four friends sharing a bottle of the cheapest beer on the menu.

The downside is the prices won't drop. Bars can't drop prices because beer, liquor, rent and electricity prices just keep going up. But, bars also can't raise prices to compensate for rising costs because it will lose patrons.

So, a couple of times a month a bar or restaurant or family-owned business closes. Even big-time businesses close. And as you see this happening all around, and all you hear on the street is whispers about "the crisis" and how there's no money to do anything anymore... you get sad. Real sad. Because the ambiance here is full of fear. It's scary. It feels like something has to be on the brink of changing. Something drastic. I can't fathom what it may be, but I do think something radical has got to happen, because people here are no longer the happy-go-lucky Spaniards who are always out and about having a coffee or a beer, celebrating at all hours of the morning with no shame and simply enjoying themselves.

The American way is "live to work." The Spanish way has always been "work to live." And so, here we are. In the country where there is no work to be able to live freely and carelessly as they always did. And here I am, living in a country that is completely fucked economically and watching it all fall apart, piece by piece. Is there hope? I can say that last year there was a lot of hope that it couldn't get worse- that a change in president and policy could give a new jump-start to this country. But, here we are, starting a new school year in September 2012 and watching how it is, to everyone's fear, getting worse.

And I have to say it's a bit surreal, and a bit scary. And I'm quite anxious to see what happens next. All I can say is that it's times like these that I'm happy to have an American passport.

Let's be Frank...

Maybe I have too much free time. Or maybe I'm just a curious person. Or maybe I ask stupid yet intriguing questions. But sometimes I wonder about a lot of things that I kinda think most people don't ever wonder about.

For example... Think about the expression, "Let's be Frank." Which means, you know, "Be brutally honest."

Or think about "Negative Nancy." Poor Nancy, always such a downer. Kinda like Debbie. "Debbie downer."

In Spanish they've got a good one, which is "La Hilaria." Everyone is either older, meaner or more fucked up than her. She forms part of every expression you could ever invent in Spanish. She's worse off than everyone in absolutely any situation. When I'm ill, Pelayo would sometimes say, "Ohh that sucks, you're sicker than La Hilaria." Or when I'm drunk, "You're more drunk than La Hilaria!" She's like the default Nancy and Debbie, and absolutely everyone else on the planet is worse off than her. I once dedicated a whole week to asking everyone I know in Oviedo who this terribly off lady was. No idea. Just like Frank and Nancy.

So, my big question is this. Who are these people? Who was the first Frank to be so "frank" to get that expression named after him? Was there some dude in some small town who was at the Main Street bar being brutally honest to everyone around him all day every day? And was he just so "frank" that everyone just replaced the word brutally honest with his name? He must have been really frank, I guess. Frank enough to get his name around, that's for sure.

I also tend to wonder about other weird tendencies and where they started. Like silly, waste of time card games. Who invented that game "Bullshit"? And who decided it was fun enough to teach all of their friends and all their families the same card game enough so that when you meet someone from Ohio they also know how to play it? Really?

Or jokes. I know the internet spreads jokes and people might read them online and repeat them to their friends at the bar later, but generally jokes are a social thing passed by word of mouth. Who in the world invented the "Why did the chicken cross the road?" joke and whyyyy did it go so far? How many people lie about knowing the person who invented that joke? Or even about being that person?

So many questions...

Okay, of all these questions the most important one is Frank. I want to know who he is. There is no reward involved but if you hear of any news, I wanna know. No, I gotta know. It's keeping me awake at night.

Waaaay up North

''I brought breakfast meat, lunch meat, and dinner meat,'' said my cousin Ruthann upon arriving to the cabin... ''There are 40 pounds of dinner meat.''

I perked up as the song ''God Bless America... my home, sweet, home...'' started ringing in my ears. No joke. This happened systematically every time my aunt started taking food in triple Costco sizes out of the cupboards.

The whole group

This fourth of July was spent super-ultra-Minnesotan style, waaaay up north near Warroad, right on Lake of the Woods. The journey began with a six hour drive through miles and miles of textbook definition ''middle of nowhere'' towns. Of course, a stop for pasties, an empanada style meat pie covered in dark gravy, was obligatory. We were, luckily, the first to arrive to my aunt Renee's cabin. I say luckily because this lovely 4th of July weekend my aunt and uncle had a guest list of 20 family members. Yes, 20.We settled in by picking out our beds as quick as possible up in the extended loft. Well, extended is kind of an understatement... that loft sleeps 13 with five queen size beds and three twins. My aunt and uncle made the cabin from scratch, with their own hands and their own ideas, and decided to make it "big family party" friendly. It's like camp up in that lovely loft... Camp with a bunch of snorers. This loft wouldn't be complete without an industrial sized pack of ear plugs on the only nightstand because, of course, the loft has no wall or no doors to soundproof the huge sleeping/snoring area. Your ears are completely vulnerable to people's early bird or late night habits. Up there, everything is heard. Forget privacy for a week, this is a new way to define an intense family get together.  But I have to say, it's a lot of fun.

A deer's eye view from the loft

Where did the remaining family sleep, you may ask? Well, my aunt and uncle intelligently made their own closed off room to sleep in, right next to the only bathroom. There's also a screened porch with a pull out couch, and the youngest cousins got to (more like had to) sleep in tents pitched somewhere among the campfire pit, three boats and god knows how many cars in the driveway.

And as a closing point in my attempt at describing this lovely place... this cabin would not be complete without a vast representation of Minnesota wildlife looking over us with their dead, marble eyes. Deer, ducks and fish... hard to get used to but definitely put on the perfect, final touch to completely integrate yourself in good ol' Minnesotan culture.

Our first meal consisted of some delicious hot dogs, baked beans, hash-browns fried to a crisp in everything greasy and some chips. Mmm. Did I mention I love America? The eating, of course, did not stop there. We ate three hefty meals a day, usually separated by a few hours spent fishing out on the boat. Puzzles, cards, movies and other "light" snacks, of course, were also involved in separating meals. Coolers upon coolers of beer and pop were also a must. Lets just say that anything you could ever want to ingest ever could be found. No exceptions.

Really expensive gigantic illegal fireworks were also involved in the weekend. Did I mention they are also life-threateningly dangerous? Year after year a couple of those moving-box sized fireworks tip right over and shoot directly at my dear family members. Somehow the majority of my (perhaps slow?) cousins sit front row in chairs just asking to be blown to confetti pieces. I chose to hide behind the truck or inside the porch along with my more intelligent father. This year was a miracle, only one shot out horizontally towards an unoccupied tent. Phew!

Roger's first catch!

Pelayo, whom you are all now familiar with, had his first experience "up north." I think he was a bit shocked by the "watch out for" list... may flies, horse flies, deer flies, ticks, poison ivy and last but not least, vampire mosquitoes. The poor thing, with his fresh sweet blood, was covered in golf ball sized welts all week. Although, not all was bad for Pelayo this week. He spent his first days lake fishing sporting a great thrift store find: an old pro fishing shirt. Kinda like a bowling shirt, but for fisherman I guess. This once belonged to a man named Roger. So now Pelayo is kinda known as Roger up in Warroad. I guess worse things could happen. I am very proud to report that Roger caught his first few fish that weekend- supplying us with three walleyes for an amazingly amazing fish fry.

Roger also picked up a lot of Minnesotan. "Oh yeah," officially became a part of his vocabulary, along with changing his Californian pronunciation of "bag" and also chuckling appropriately when anyone let an "Uff-da" slip. Fishing license in hand, twins hat on his head, and all four limbs limbs covered in mosquito bites... shhhhh... I am secretly turning him into a Minnesotan!

I have to say that when I am away these are the things I miss the most. Family gatherings, friends, and over-eating. I guess mostly over-eating.