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.

Bragging Rights

Hello, all.

I thought it was about time for me to do some bragging. Ah, yes, bragging. I almost never brag because, well, it's a bit arrogant and not nice to listen to and I don't enjoy doing it. But, I thought I would. Just this once.

I've had quite a long love affair with the Spanish language. I was lucky enough to have world-concious parents who enrolled my brother and I into a Spanish immersion school as kids, which I just happened to love. I was also quite lucky in the fact that I was skilled at learning Spanish, I never found it especially hard to figure out how to express myself in a different language. Our family had the luck to host two Mexican TA's in our home, so I was practicing Spanish at home, seeing how to cook Mexican food and learning about their culture by seeing it in my home! That was a truly amazing experience for a kid, for me.

And then, here luck has nothing to do with it, I have always been extremely motivated to keep up my language skills, enough to keep chugging and chugging away at studying. I kept up with it throughout high school and decided to major in it in college. I studied abroad in the only program in Spain that was 100% Spanish (which took a lot of digging to find!), and soon after realized my life would never be the same without this absolutely lovely language. I suddenly found that if I didn´t speak Spanish for two weeks I started to feel a bit depressed, a bit sad. I would get headaches and get crabby. Then I'd sit down and speak Spanish, or pick up a book, and I would feel happy and free again. I decided that no matter where I was or what I did in my life, as long as Spanish was a part of it I would be just fine. And that became my new life goal. To keep Spanish in my life every single day, no matter what. And I've accomplished it.

My brother and I during our first trip to Spain, in a campsite in Barcelona.

After my study abroad experience I only did job searches for ones that had something to do with Spanish- and to my luck, once again- companies usually hired me first and paid me more for being a near fluent speaker. I seem to be crisis-proof both in America and in Spain for being biligual, not a bad deal in the end.

My last two years of college I started studying interpreting, a whole new challenge to add to my language skills. In those courses I started to realize that the two languages I spoke had always been very seperate in my mind, and I never had to think of language equivalents and the closest possible meanings of words... What a mess! Of course, this mess turned into a passion... now I love the challenge that comes along with interpreting and translating- it almost seems like a game to me- just a big fat play on words.

Anyway, in order to complete this interpreting certificate program, we had to have our language level assessed. I was given an ''Advanced Fluency'' level, the second best level out of a possible 9 levels. I was shocked. And proud. I got the highest score in my class. And, therefore, I thought I was at my peak and that there wasn't too much more improving to be done. (I can tell you that now I speak maybe twice as well as I spoke then.)

After graduating I applied for a TA job in Spain and got it. One year turned into two and two into three, and here I am.

I've been learning Spanish for almost 20 years. I've been taught by people from all over the world, from Mexico, Spain, Cuba, Columbia, Argentina... I've traveled to numerous Spanish speaking countries, getting an ear for different accents and vocabulary from all these different fabulous places. I worked as a medical interpreter. I interpreted for all different kinds of people from all different places with all different problems. I've had my eyes (and ears) opened throughout my whole life in ways that most people can only dream of... I've lived in Barcelona, Jaén, Gijón and Oviedo, North, South and East.

I can happily say that up til now I have lived.

I've been dating Pelayo for a bit over a year now, and my Spanish skills are now truly peaking. And I'm still learning! Since meeting him I've lived my day to day life in Spanish. I may teach English five days a week, but it's the only time in a week that I 'speak' English. I say 'speak' because I have to sepak slowly, control my vocabulary and constantly explain myself and, well, teach. In the end I don't speak English at all during the week. I don't have any American friends here, therefore I only speak English once a week when I talk with my parents or my friends via the best invention in the last decade: Skype.

Within this last year I have accomplished goals I was absolutely positive I would never accomplish.

1. Reading novels in Spanish without a dictionary and actually enjoying them.
2. Meeting someone, talking with them, and having them leave thinking I was Spanish. (OK this has only happened once, and because it was a really short convo, but it happened!)
3. Sitting at a table with more than three people and being able to follow a conversation- this is so extremely difficult, I can't even begin to explain. Now I can survive with a group of up to ten!
4. I can speak Spanish all day and not have a headache after. 

Goals to go? I still have to learn how to be witty in Spanish. I'm not quite there yet. And I'm not so funny yet, either. Although, I guess I don't know if I'm very funny in English either. And I still feel like I've got a ways to go to be able to express sympathy, gratitude and things like ''Merry Xmas'' and ''Happy Birthday'' and feel like I mean them. For some reason, those things come from the heart and my heart, in the end, speaks in English.

Yesterday my yoga instructor and a couple of people who go to class with me complimented me on my Spanish, ''Wow, it's just, your Spanish is so good! You sound like a Spaniard!'' A few days ago a friend of Pelayo's said, ''Estoy flipando! '' aka ''I'm flipping out! (Your Spanish is so good!)'' A couple of weeks ago, Pelayo's mother told me how much I had improved since she met me. Every time someone expresses their awe at my language skills, I swell up like a peacock. My feathers fly out and I smile for about ten minutes straight. Sometimes I flash back to all of my years of study and all of the time and effort I've put into learning this language, and it's so, so worth it.

I just love it.

Yes, more about littering

So, I hate to be a nagging brat about the whole littering thing, but the story continues. Hard to believe? Well, yes, it does.

I decided to take some advice from a comment an anonymous reader made on my first blog entry about littering ("The Joys of Littering") in which he/she stated that I should bring up the topic with my students and see what they had to say about it. Finding it quite a neat idea, I decided to do it. I took advantage of some extra free time in my classes yesterday after wrapping up a discussion about the American tradition of Arbor Day and the importance of trees in our every day lives...

I casually started off with a story, precisely the story I told you all about my brother's encounter with the strange sensation of littering in Spain, something he normally doesn't do in Minnesota. (You can read the full story in my entry "The Joys of Littering.") Upon finishing up the story I asked the provocative question which was "What's the difference between a twenty year old boy from Minnesota and a twenty year old boy from Spain in this situation?"

Their, surprisingly proud, response? "The Minnesotan boy cares about the environment more than the Spanish boy."

And so the conversation continued.

"Do you litter?" ... "Yes."
"Do you think it's okay?" ... "Yes."
"Do you think littering is a problem in Spain?" ... "No."

"Why do you think it's okay!?" The list of excuses was endless...
-Because the government pays people to clean the streets. If we throw away our garbage they will lose their jobs. (This was the most common thing that they said.)
-Because there are never any trash bins nearby. (An addition from two or three students: If I am on one side of the street with my friends and the bin is on the other side of the street, I am not going to cross the street to throw it away because then my friends will leave and I will have to chase them.)
-Because it's easier.
-Because the street is not my home. I don't have to take care of it.

I was shocked and awed. These comments came from THREE different groups of students aged 11 to 13. In every class, of course, there were a couple of the typical students who are always nice and thoughtful and smart who said they don't litter and think that it's very bad to litter- but the overwhelming response was listed above. They literally argued with me against cleaning up after themselves. And so, I found the problem. These kids have never been educated, neither by their parents nor by the education system, to take care of their town and of their planet.

I have decided on a punishment/lesson for the kids. Near to the school there is a huge field, a typical field that all the kids cross every single day to walk to school, and that is, of course, filled with garbage. (When I told them the street cleaners didn't clean their field, and what would happen to that field being full of garbage for so long, their response was, "It's not a big deal, the plastic will decompose and it won't harm anyone.") I have decided that although Earth Day has passed, we are going to have a belated Earth Day in which we will clean up the field... I don't know if schools are into that here, but I've already spoken with the head English teacher and next up is the headmaster. These kids are going to learn how to pick up garbage... even if it is from their American TA.

And then I'm going to show them this video... just to give them an extra dose of what I like to call "responsibility!"

The Proof of Littering

After posting my thoughts in "The Joys of Littering," I got a few negative responses from natives of Oviedo. They claimed I was being unfair and that I made Spaniards sound like a bunch of pigs living in a rotten pigsty... when I asked them simply, "Did I lie? Did I make something up?" They couldn't tell me otherwise... So I thought that I needed a bit of proof about the real problem of littering in this country.

A couple of weeks ago my mom was here for a week-long visit. I am pretty sure she didn't read my littering entry before her arrival... One day when I was at work and she was left wandering around Oviedo during the day, she ended up taking pictures of the garbage people left behind in a park.

She in fact felt so sickened by it all she had to leave the park and opt to spend her time shopping- the sight of ruined green public spaces was too much...A group of people were sitting around eating McDonald's in the park and just got up and left everything in it's place... then we all wonder why it's prohibited to sit on the grass in this park!

Ah, there's nothing like Pre-Roman architecture surrounded by garbage... Please take note that all of the pictures posted in today's post were taken within a span of a week.

And the last shot of the week, the what could have been more beautiful beach in the Gros neighborhood of San Sebastian, Spain. This sight actually spanned the entire beach line, and I have never seen anything quite like it...

Well, that was very American of me

I am currently attending yoga classes here in Oviedo. I've never been into the whole yoga thing- it always seemed a bit boring and too relaxing for my type. Keeping in mind that cheerleading always had me at 10,000 MPH, I have always been prepared to work hard and sweat, not breathe deep and feel my chakras, or whatever. I had always heard it was good for you, your flexibility and well-being. So, I tried it about a thousand times. I tried it while attending Winona State University, again at Snap Fitness in Robbinsdale, again at free community classes in Gijon, and yet again at a hot yoga studio in Plymouth... The hot yoga studio finally got to me a bit. I found myself thoroughly enjoying the insane amount of sweat involved in stretching with a bunch of other sweaty people all at once in a 100+ degree room. On top of that, it was challenging. The instructors were dynamic and interesting- they made you push yourself and try new things. It wasn't all about relaxing in this class, it was more athletic than I had never experienced. And, most importantly, I found that it was kind to my old grandma style knees and ankles, and I was, in a way, hooked.

Upon my arrival in Oviedo I started asking around about yoga studios... I quickly found that hot yoga hadn't hit the European scene yet, but everyone kept pointing me in the same direction- Rama. A man named Rama. (I guess that his yoga name because his "real" name is, apparently, Tomas. Go figure.) A man who seems to be very well known and respected in the yoga world. And by world, I mean world. I guess he's one of the only Europeans to be trained at his level in India by real yogis. Aaaand he's in Oviedo, small world. Anyway, I haven't memorized his resume, all I know is he's well known and everyone kept telling me he was the best... So I thought I would give it a try. After my first class I couldn't walk normal for six days. I'm not exaggerating. SIX days. I know I have been that sore before, but it had been a loooong time. I guess you could say Rama knows how to kick your ass.

These yoga classes are quite interesting- it's a kind of yoga called "Astanga." I'm not educated in the world of yoga, all I know is that this involves learning a series of poses by heart. There are three series, and I'm obviously learning the first series still, as I'm only on week three. Every week you add a pose or two to your series... so you're always advancing and learning new things. It's a neat setting- everyone goes at their own pace and does their own thing. Suddenly, the instructor comes up behind you and pushes you 3x beyond what you thought your limit was and tells you the breathe. You want to smack him... but you breathe, and it helps. Then, out of the corner of your eye you see some advanced student with their legs in places you never thought they could be. It's scary imagining that my legs could be in that position someday, and perhaps not too far from today...

In the end it's nice to know there's a goal in mind- which in my mind is finishing the first series champion style and moving onto the next.

Just so you get an idea... 

Getting to the point: On Tuesday of this week I learned one new pose to add to the introductory poses I learned during my first two weeks. I finally started to advance and was super psyched about it. Today, when I reached that final pose and somehow weaseled my way out of it, Rama said, "Okay, that's all for today." I looked back at him, wanting more, "Can I learn one more today??" I gave him my big cheesy smile...

He chuckled and smiled back as if it was the first time anyone had asked him for more yoga! "So American..." He grinned. "Yes."

We Americans... we're always so motivated!! <3