Antifascistas and Thanksgiving

On November 20, I was walking with some friends off the main street in Zaragoza talking about how many policemen we had seen that day, some dressed in riot gear, and others simply sitting in their cars. We had no idea what was going on.  All of a sudden, we heard the sounds of a large crowd on the main street, Paseo de la Independencia. The street had been blocked off and a massive group of people was walking and brandishing banners reading, “Antifascista”. That was when I heard a bystander mention that it was the anniversary of Francisco Franco’s death. We watched the procession for a while. Although Spain is pretty solidly anti-fascist, there is still minimal support for fascism in some areas and every year, this anti-fascist march takes place on Franco’s death date.

            On a lighter note, this Thanksgiving was definitely the strangest that I’ve experienced although not bad. Obviously the Spanish don’t celebrate our holiday so it was weird to wake up on a seemingly normal Thursday and go to school when it was Thanksgiving. Most of the other Americans I was with were excited for the holiday as well even though we missed our homes and families. That day, my host mom asked me why my schedule said that there was a class dinner. As I struggled to tell her the meaning of Thanksgiving she nodded and interrupted, “You eat a lot more today, right?” Yeah that’s part of it.  That night, our class ate turkey, potatoes, pies, all the usual good stuff and it felt like I was in America again for at least a couple of hours.  Anyways, I hoped everyone had a good thanksgiving, hasta pronto.

Visit to the Basque Country

Last Monday, we started a week long class trip to the Basque Country, an autonomous community in Spain.  After traveling for a few hours through the Navarra, another autonomous community, we crossed into Basque Country. The change was apparent immediately. We had been driving through tan hills under a blue cloudless sky when all of a sudden the hills turned to green mountains complete with oblivious sheep and the sky became grey.

            We stopped in Vitoria, the capital of the Basque Country and toured La Catedral de Santa María, a fourteenth century Gothic cathedral. It underwent many renovations over the years and became totally unsound. Originally it served as an entrance to the city. Now it is closed for renovation and pictures are off limits. Basically, they’ve dug up the floor and are trying to make it more stable. Nevertheless, it was still cool to see.

            After Vitoria we arrived in San Sebastian where we would spend the week. Outside of our hotel we stood at the point where the Cantabrian Sea met the River Urumea. I’d never seen anything like it.

            San Sebastian has great views, from the beach, se llama La Concha, to its three picturesque mountains, Igeldo, Urgull, Adarra. I’ll include some pictures.

            During our stay in San Sebastian, we ate arguably the best food in Spain. The Basque Country is renowned for its tapas, or small portions of food almost like hors d’oeuvres. In the old part of town, there are numerous tapas bars, all named in Euskera, one of the two official languages of the Basque Country, the other being Spanish. Euskera is totally different, bearing no resemblance to really any language and is apparently very difficult to learn. The tapas bars are all small and always filled with people. They give you a plate and you take whatever you want (like a buffet but way better than Golden Corral ,you know, really there’s no comparison I don’t know why I would say that) At the end you simply tell the owner how many you ate and they normally run at about 1.50 Euro each.

            On Wednesday, we visited the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, which was great. I honestly don’t know that much about art so I can’t really critique it but they had a large collection of modern art as well as a ton of abstract pieces.

            So overall, the Basque Country was great and I’d love to return later this year. Until the week after next…

American politics, fast food popular in Spain

By the time this is posted, it will be Election Day. I’ve found it very easy to keep up with the race here because Spaniards are very interested in it or at the very least bemused by Sarah Palin. Every night on the news, we hear about the polls and the campaigning after which my host father always stares at me and asks me what I think as if my opinions change from day to day. Sadly I’m not yet able to articulate my ideas well enough to carry on an intelligent discussion with him. The majority of Spaniards I’ve spoken to lean heavily towards Obama although there was the exception of the three or four of kids in the park who responded enthusiastically, “McCine, McCine”.

On another note, there is a real fascination with the United States’ culture here. This isn’t to say they don’t love their own country, the Spaniards I’ve met are really patriotic and love it here. Well, here’s an example: Last weekend I was talking to a Spanish girl when she stopped and asked me if I knew this song and began singing “I’m a Barbie girl”. I asked where she had heard it thinking maybe a commercial that wasn’t dubbed into Spanish but the answer instead was, “they play it in clubs, we dance to it”. Spanish teenagers at least also love American fast food. Although the fast part and the low prices are lost in translation I think. The three story McDonald’s and the two story Burger King are perpetually packed. Our equivalent of fast food here is Doner Kebab. There are tons of them located around Zaragoza. When you walk in the first thing you see is a huge chunk of chicken or lamb on a spit. They shave the meat off and stuff it into a pocket of bread and drizzle different sauces into it. So actually, it’s a lot better than fast food. Needless to say, really excellent.

Fiestas Del Pilar

Alright, so I’m used to playing soccer during the fall so I decided to find a team here in Zaragoza. I asked my host parents where the field was and they told me. I didn’t understand and my host dad was kind enough to draw a detailed map complete with scale and compass (just kidding).  The field was encompassed by cinderblock walls and an imposing sign emblazoned with the logo of the club.  The field was turf and there was stadium seating. They were excellent, they could string together twenty passes using two touches each. They could also drive the ball across the field right onto the foot of a man in the path of his run. Impressive stuff, and it was way beyond me. After two practices, the coach called me over and using slow Spanish explained that there were too many people (21 already) and that I wouldn’t be able to compete but I could always practice with them.  So this week I should be finding another team hopefully, and I’m looking forward to it.

From the 4th to the 13th of October, Zaragoza was filled with people that had come for the Fiestas Del Pilar, which celebrate the Virgin Mary’s appearance to Saint James on a pillar in Zaragoza itself. On the first day of Pilar, I camped out on Calle Alfonso which leads to the Plaza de Pilar. There were a ton of people wearing these crazily colored pants complete with suspenders although they allowed these to flop at their legs instead of actually wearing them. The kids would get their friends to sign them in permanent marker. The procession weaved its way down Alfonso in distinct groups. There was a group for every barrio (neighborhood) in Zaragoza. Each barrio wore the same color pants and stopped to dance to the myriad trumpets and tubas that accompanied their group. Every so often a group would stop and call to the onlookers standing on their balconies over Calle Alfonso, “Agua, agua” to which the amused Spaniard would leave and return with a pitcher of water to pour down on the drunk partygoers. They would roar their approval and march on, soaked to the bone yet still happy. I asked my host dad what this was all about and he shrugged his shoulders, “tradición” was the response. That night we watched fireworks above the cathedral as the start of Pilar.

Every night during Pilar, swarms of kids occupied the parks, practicing Botellon, or drinking in parks with friends, always interested in meeting Americans. Concerts happened every night as well, from the Spanish rockstars, Pereza , to whom I like to refer to as the Spanish Billy Joel, Miguel Bose.

And during every day of Pilar, my host family and I would pile into their van and drive to the abuelos’ accompanied by 80’s dance music, my host dad’s favorite type of music. Like I’ve mentioned before the meals at the abuelos’ are huge and I counted a high number of seventeen dishes on the table. The conversations always moved too fast for me to understand but I could tell they were very spirited based on their volume.

The ofrenda de flores was the final event of Pilar. There was another procession down Calle Alfosno, this time not made by loud, spirited Spanish youth but by Spaniards of all seventeen autonomous communities of Spain. They dressed in traditional clothes and walked with flowers to the Plaza de Pilar where they put them on a large float with a statue of the Virgin Mary at the top.

It was amazing to see how many people flocked to Zaragoza for the national festival.

The Food

I will say, the food here can be incredibly good and it can be fried eggplant and fried beef. Spaniards relish in preparing food and eating it. Breakfast isn’t too big, I normally have a cola-cao (swiss miss, Spanish style, delicious) and magdalenas which are muffins laden with sugar. Lunch is the big meal of the day though and it is taken seriously.  When we eat with the extended family on Saturday’s at the pueblo (small town), there are easily twelve different dishes laid out on the table. Including ternasco (lamb), ternera (beef), tortilla española (potato omelet-esque), salchicha (like hotdogs but better), morcilla (blood sausage), to name a few. Meals are always accompanied by baguettes , which are awesome. The other day I ate a whole baguette at dinner. This might be interpreted as rude in the United States but Spanish mothers really like to see their children eat copious amounts. Most of the time when I’ve finished eating, my Spanish mom will ask me if I want more, by now I’m normally stuffed to full capacity,  and my response, “No, thanks, it was delicious though” is met with an incredulous stare.

Food doesn’t just mean nourishment in Spain, it is savored and long talks and/or rest (descanso) follows lunch.  Today, my host family finished eating and we drank coffee and discussed the fashion show that was being reviewed on the national news.

So, right now, Spain is great and I’m having an excellent time. Right now it’s Pilar, which is a nine day fiesta celebrating the Virgin Mary’s appearance to Saint James on a pillar in the city where I’m living, Zaragoza, a cathedral was built on this spot and now a ton of tourists and Spaniards are flocking to Zaz for the holiday, and it is definitely a party. More on that to come.

The Host Family

On September 5th,  I stepped off the plane in Madrid, excited, no, ecstatic, at the prospect of spending nine months in Spain.  Six hours later, I met the family that was going to adopt me as a son and brother for the school year. My host dad’s first words to me flew in one ear and out the other. I don’t remember exactly what I stammered back and I doubt it made much sense. As we drove to my new home late that night, my new eight-year-old host brother tried to tell me something and I couldn’t catch a word of it. I asked him to repeat himself and he simply returned my puzzled look and laughed. He didn’t repeat himself. My interactions with my five-year-old host sister were simpler and much easier.  She smiled at me from her car seat. I smiled back and she laughed, we repeated this interaction probably twenty times before the end of the ride.

My relationship with my host family has grown since our first meeting nearly a month ago.  My host sister shows me her different dolls and tells me their names. My personal favorite is Bugs Bunny, which she says in a thick Spanish accent, Boogs Boony. My host brother routinely wanders into my room while trying to avoid my host mom when he is supposed to be doing homework. He enjoys playing with dinosaurs and beating me at Spanish monopoly even when I cheated. (He’s really good at monopoly). My Spanish mom is very caring and great at explaining things in simple terms to me. My Spanish dad is very outgoing yet very laid-back which I think is a very Spanish mindset. We have watched innumerable American movies dubbed into Spanish together. Seeing as how I have to ask him what the characters are saying and he responds in great detail, I consider it a strong bonding experience.