Thanksgiving: Spanish Edition

This was my first Thanksgiving away from home, and I must say that I had no idea how much I was going to miss pie. Turkey I can live without, although my señora did make chicken on Thursday, which she noted was “almost like turkey, but better.” But more than anything, Thanksgiving is about being with family, and it was definitely weird that it was such a non-event this year. Fortunately, I’ll get plenty of time with the cousins and grandparents during Chanukkah.

But, true to the abroad experience, I still managed to have a memorable, if not traditional, Thanksgiving. Friday, my program took a day trip to Segovia, where the main sites are remarkably well-preserved Roman aqueducts and the castle that inspired Walt Disney and actually does bear a strong resemblance to the logo. However, these paled in comparison to the main event: lunch at José María, the most famous restaurant in Segovia.

We piled into the quaint yet sophisticated dining room, sat around big circular tables, and passed around a variety of appetizers and side dishes. Several students’ families had flown out to be with their kids on Thanksgiving, so our program director made a little speech about family and being grateful for our experience here. For a second, the scene resembled a traditional Thanksgiving meal. But then they started brining out the cochinillo.

Cochinillo means “little pig” in Spanish and is the José María specialty. Having been forewarned, we had our cameras ready and minds open for what was coming to our table. When the waiters brought out the little roasted pigs, they set them on a center table and gave us a little background on a tradition that began in the Middle Ages. Kings used to invite a pretty girl to the head of the table to cut the pig, and they would use only the side of a plate to demonstrate how tender it was. When they were done, they would throw the plates on the floor to show that there weren’t any blades lodged in the plates. In the spirit of tradition, they invited the girl who had the most recent birthday to join in cutting up the first pigs—and of course she had to prove her plate wasn’t full of metal. It was quite a spectacle.

The pig, by the way, was absolutely delicious. My friend Nisha gobbled hers up and was in the process of picking it clean when she flipped over a big bone and saw teeth! Turns out she had been eating the face, as had our friend Sebastian, who had the other half of the jaw. I had a leg, which was pretty safe, although some did have hooves on the end. But that’s how good this meat was: people ate around hooves and teeth and even the occasional mystery organ, literally picking the bones clean, and had no qualms about doing so because it was just so tasty.

Dessert also came with a bit of spectacle. The chef made a chocolate sauce concoction by heating up chocolate with various herbs and some alcohol that he lit on fire, while all of the November and December birthday people stood around the table staring at the flaming pot and eagerly anticipating the first taste. The sauce was poured over a plate with two flavors of ice cream, a brownie, and some sort of hard, crepe-like pastry. Once again, I licked my plate clean. And then wanted to vomit after such a huge meal. I guess that’s one thing this meal had in common with my normal Thanksgiving experience.

WHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

After staying up until 5 am to see Obama's victory safely sealed, I slept through class until noon. When I woke up, the first thing I did was watch his victory speech, which made me cry. How incredible! Looking at all of the pictures from the rally made me wish I had been back in Chicago for the election, but I also noticed something else. All of the young people in the pictures were smiling and shouting, but the older people were crying. For them, this has been a long saga from the Civil Rights Movement to what many people are already calling a "post-racial America" and Obama's election is the culmination of a long, hard-fought battle for equality. At the same time, I was disappointed to see that my home state passed the ban on gay marriage. I couldn't believe that so many people had voted for something so clearly discriminatory at the same time that they marked their ballots for the first black president of the United States. It made me realize that, just as racial prejudice was the storyline of our parents' generation, homosexuality will likely have its own version of the Civil Rights Movement during our generation's lifetime. Think about it: almost all of us know people who are gay and have little problem with their sexual orientation, and many of us are for gay rights such as the right to marriage even though it doesn't affect us personally; meanwhile, people among the generations of our parents and grandparents are often the ones holding most tightly to anti-gay prejudices, just as their parents and grandparents clung to racism and fought the inevitable progress of civil rights for African Americans. Just some food for thought, I guess, on such an historic day.

In the meantime, I'm excited to see what the response will be in Spain. I already know what my uber-conservative (and pretty racist) senora is going to say. But I'd like to see what normal people are thinking and how this election might already be changing some opinions of America over here in Europe.

Sorry, Walt: Spain might just be the "happiest place on earth"

I recall writing, a few weeks back, that I felt like I was living in a happy bubble here in Madrid. Well, the feeling has yet to wear off, and I’m beginning to wonder if this is the happiest place on earth (next to Disneyland, of course). First of all, I’m sitting here eating a giant chocolate cake that my mom baked and mailed to me. Yes, that’s right, my mom is insane. And amazing. I thought it was ridiculous enough that she has mailed her famous “Chocolate Disaster Cake” from Santa Barbara, CA, to Evanston for my birthday the past two years. But this last episode really, well, takes the cake (UGH horrible, I’m sorry). While I continue gorging myself on chocolate deliciousness, I’ll recount the most recent examples of good-natured Spanish fun and festivity.

Sunday, for example, was Spain Day. It was the saint day for Pilar, the patrona of Spain, and also Columbus Day (Yep, I happened to land in the only other country that celebrates it. Unfortunately, we didn’t get Monday off from school. Columbus gets no respect!) So while my Sunday afternoon activities are generally limited to waking up around 2, eating lunch, sleeping some more, and catching up on the latest episode of The Office, I actually ventured out the house this Sunday to take in the festivities. People were bustling around downtown on what is normally a pretty quiet day considering stores are closed on Sundays, and the Plaza Mayor was full of café-goers, street performers, and teens sitting in circles on the ground chatting. Ally and I made our way over to the Paseo del Prado, where there was a four-hour concert/parade going on in celebration of the Americas—presumably Spain’s discovery of them, but also a showcase of the diverse population here that includes immigrants from every South American country. People of all ages were singing and dancing as Spanish bands, from pop to traditional to what sounded distinctly like Blink-182 in Spanish, made their way down the street on big floats to their final concert destination in the Plaza del Prado.

That’s the other thing I love about Spain: old people here actually get off their butts and out of the house to take in some fresh air and fun experiences! One of my teachers actually noted that people are considered “joven” (young) until the age of 70, and that you are only “mayor” (senior… NEVER call someone “viejo”) once you’ve topped that milestone. People regularly live into their 90s and beyond here—Spain has one of the highest life expectancies globally—and I attribute it entirely to their active lifestyle. The Spanish just never tire of walking around city, meeting up with friends, going out for paella, and visiting museums and parks. I feel lazy compared to my 60-something señora; she is literally NEVER in the house. And here I am spending a whole two hours doing reading and writing this blog post! I just love the vivacity and sense of adventure that people have here. They just love life.

People here are also a lot more open about sexuality, which is slightly surprising coming from what is normally viewed as a very traditional, Catholic country. Take the National Ballet, for instance. Ally and I couldn’t help but shoot each other a quick look the first time a topless girl came onstage, but that wasn’t completely out of the norm. What I was NOT expecting was to see two men take off all of their clothes and do some sort of sexually charged dance fighting. This was after the first naked man had encountered a fully clothed woman (not for long!), who later had sex with a priest. All in all, it was a thoroughly enjoyable ballet, notwithstanding the nudity, and I liked how they incorporated lots of stomping/tapping in the dance to give it a certain Spanish flair. And I also learned that penises look really funny flapping around as men jeté and plié and whatever else they do in ballet. I guess it’s probably a good sign that I had no prior knowledge of this.

Anyway, the sun is still shining here, the weather relatively warm, and the bars and clubs still as crowded and fun as ever. I really had no idea how happy I would be here, but you can’t really help but be completely content in a place like this. I don’t know anyone on my program that isn’t totally in love with Madrid and already fretting that the semester is partially over. Maybe I should just move here… Perhaps join the naked ballet? I’ll keep you updated.

birthday getaway to... the developing world?

Friday was my 21st birthday. Based on that information, most of you would gather that I’m about to regale you with wild tales of drunken follies in the clubs of Madrid. But I’ll actually be catching up on that birthday partying a little later this week because I spent my 21st in Morocco, where there was certainly no alcohol to be found. In spite of my sobriety (or perhaps because of it) it was the most memorable birthday weekends I’ve had. While I found myself a bit outside my comfort zone at times (specifically in the bathrooms) and I’m glad to be back in a developed country, it was an eye-opening experience that really gave me some perspective on the world outside of my North American/ European bubble.

Here are some highlights from the four-day trip:

The Hamam:
I only showered once between Wednesday night, when we took the overnight bus to Algeciras, and Monday morning, when we returned. And what a shower it was. A hamam is a traditional bathhouse where women and men (separately…) go to scrub themselves clean once or twice per week. When we found out we would be going to the hamam, we were slightly peeved that no one had told us to bring bathing suits on the trip. Little did we know what a silly notion that would have been anyway. In our American modesty, we determined that we would go in underwear and bras or t-shirts, but when we got into the hamam we were told that would be exceedingly weird. We had only one option: take off the tops. Needless to say, it was a bonding experience. We each received our own bucket upon entering the steamy room, which we filled up at the vats of scalding hot water and dumped over our heads to bathe ourselves. Other women sat in circles scrubbing each other vigorously, but we decided we could live without going to second (or third) base with twelve of our friends. One of my friends did slip and fall directly onto a naked Moroccan woman, though, and we could not stop cracking up.

Turkish Toilets:
This doesn’t need much explanation beyond a description of a Turkish toilet. Basically, it’s a hole in the ground with a porcelain base and places to put your feet when you squat down on your haunches to do your business. You flush by filling a bucket with water and dumping it into the hole. Occasionally, people fail to flush, even when they have made a complete mess of the toilet. And there is almost never toilet paper in a public bathroom.

Homestay:
The program we went on puts students up in groups of two or three with middle class Moroccan families in Rabat. We stayed with an adorable woman, her husband (who we rarely saw), and their two daughters, 17 and 21. They didn’t appear to be very religious, but the 17-year-old daughter did reveal to us in broken English—which she learned solely from watching TV—that she has a secret boyfriend of three years that she cannot tell her mother about. They met in a McDonald’s. There was a definite language barrier, but it was really enlightening to see how they live and what their daily lives are like. The food was delicious, too. Couscous with vegetables and chicken is the traditional feast food in Morocco, and everyone ate out of the same big bowl in the middle of the table. When we visited a rural family, they ate it with their hands, tossing it until it made a little couscous ball and then inhaling it. The house was completely open to the sky in the middle, and every room was lined with couches (so we reclined around the table at mealtimes and slept on couches in the bedroom). It was clean, but small and definitely nothing like anything we would consider “middle class” in the United States. And when we walked to their house, we encountered all sorts of foul odors coming from the market, ranging from raw meat sitting out in the sun to live chickens awaiting their impending death to cat urine. (There were feral cats everywhere in Morocco. At one point, when we were visiting some ruins, Ally and I found ourselves trapped against a pond, surrounded by at least twenty cats. At a market in Chefchaouen, I accidentally stepped on or kicked a kitten, which apparently amused some Moroccan guys standing by.) Overall, our homestay family was very accommodating and made the experience much more enlightening than it would have been had we stayed in hostels or hotels.

Talking to Moroccan Students:
We had several opportunities to speak with Moroccan students. Our first day, we met with three religious women studying for their Masters in English at a university in Tanger. While they were all religious and had chosen to wear the veil, or hijab, they did have varying opinions on whether or not it was okay to “date” before getting married. One woman had met her husband because he was a friend her brother’s since childhood, another said she wanted to marry traditionally and not date her future husband prior to marriage, and the other seemed to indicate that it wasn’t a bad idea to hang out with a man before committing herself to marry him, although her parents had had an arranged marriage. At one point, the discussion got a bit heated and uncomfortable when the topic turned to al-Qaeda and 9/11. The girls weren’t convinced that al-Qaeda had carried out the attacks, and conspiracy theories are apparently widespread here, which made many of my friends angry or at least incredulous. And we didn’t even want to bring up Israel (we’re all Jewish)…
The next day, we had time to hang out, go shopping, and smoke hookah with some young Moroccan guys, which was great. They were relatively liberal when it came to dating (one had a girl coming to visit him from England), but they still didn’t drink alcohol. Those conversations were much tamer but still very interesting. One thing that was striking was that these guys, and many other Moroccans, know multiple European languages but have never been outside of Morocco. No one we met had ever left the country, and they were all middle class people of reasonable enough means to attend university for years, etc. Much of that has to do with how impossible it is to get a visa from Morocco because of the issue of illegal immigration. So when we remarked that it was really great that they could speak so many languages, the guys were sort of blasé about it. After all, what use is Italian if you can’t go to Italy?

Crossing the Border:
On the way back, we took a different route, crossing the border on foot from Morocco to the Spanish enclave of Ceuta. According to our guide, that border has the widest income disparity of any in the world (more than US-Mexico, Israel-Syria, etc.) and the difference was striking. People living in the provinces surrounding Ceuta are allowed cross into Ceuta, so many are better off than others because they can sell their goods across the border and then spend their euros back in Morocco. Nonetheless, it went from a dirty, slum-like border town to European seaside villa in a matter of minutes on foot. Equally striking were the massive shantytowns between Rabat and Casablanca. Millions of Moroccans squat in these settlements, and the government just began providing them with running water. Near Asilah, a budding beachside resort town, the shantytown was directly across the street from the construction site for a massive golf course and resort.
Overall, it was an unforgettable experience. While I’m not rushing to get back to the Third World, I am very glad that I went and had the opportunity to participate in a cultural exchange and meet people whose lives are so drastically different from mine.

"she loves to get naughty with her pilates body"

If ever there were ever an appropriate time to quote Mickey Avalon lyrics, it would be now.

After eating French fries and a fried egg doused in oil for dinner last night, let’s just say I was pretty pumped when my señora insisted that we join her for pilates today. And what an adventure it was…

We met her after class at an all-women’s gym, which was literally called “Gimnasio para Mujeres,” and when we walked inside, it was as if we’d stumbled into some sort of time warp and traveled back to the ‘90s. The walls were plastered with photos of nearly naked women with big, frizzy ‘90s hairstyles, posing on various exercise machines. Picture old-school “American Gladiator”, but with thongs and visible nipples. One absolutely ripped, absolutely naked, woman was doing curls. Which, you know, is just what I want to stare at when I’m running on the treadmill. Another be-thonged girl was sprawled across the elliptical machine in feigned fatigue, with a slogan reading “Stay a Step Ahead!” I may not have been motivated, but I was certainly amused.

We made our way over to the studio area, where the décor shifted from soft-core porn for workout addicts to the less fetish-specific stuff: half-naked men standing under a waterfall, half-naked men pushing a truck to some unknown location, half-naked men staring intently at a half-naked woman checking herself out in a mirror post-workout. For the more prudish, there was one motivational poster without any skin: one of those classic, black-bordered posters with a picture of the ocean and an inspirational quote.

As if the questionable interior design wasn’t enough, pilates itself was a bit of a trip. Not only have I never done pilates, but I also didn’t know any pilates language in Spanish. So not only did I look like a complete retard trying to fake it and look at other people for guidance, but I also looked like an even bigger idiot in front of all these little old ladies who knew exactly what they were doing. Yep, at last 90% of the attendees were over 70. Let’s just say I didn’t get much of a workout, but I did learn how to say, “Clench the ball with your knees and breathe out” in Spanish. I did regain some of my lost self-esteem this afternoon when we met some friends for our first experience with Spanish film and I was actually able to understand almost everything that the characters said. I guess looking like an idiot is the best way to learn, anyway, and I’ll probably be doing a lot of it as I continue to fumble with—and drastically improve—my Spanish.

it's a small world after all

I’m currently sitting in my señora’s kitchen plugged into the ghetto Internet router, cradling a roll of toilet paper for my runny nose (yep, sick in my first week and unable/too lazy to find Kleenex) and contemplating a siesta before we go out to celebrate our first week in Spain tonight at Pacha, another club. Yep, I'm in Spain for the next three months, studying, living with an older single woman, and attempting to improve my Spanish to near fluency. I made it through my first week of classes relatively unscathed, except for contracting this mystery illness, although I can tell that what appears to be only a small amount of homework is going to take much longer than expected since it’s all in Spanish. None of my classes are particularly challenging content-wise, but focusing on understanding and speaking Spanish for an hour and a half can get very tiring. Plus, it’s hard to relax when I get home because our señora obviously wants to hear about our day and chat with us about travel plans, food, the girls who stayed with her last year (fellow sorority members), etc—in Spanish. I’m generally okay with it, but my roommate has a hard time when she’s tired and hungry. I think I’m glad we live together so that whenever we get mentally exhausted, we can just lapse into English.

Overall, this week has been a blur, and I feel like I’m living in a bubble of sunshine and fiestas while life continues as usual, or worse than usual, at home. With the economic crisis dominating the headlines, growing tension between Pakistan and US forces in Afghanistan, and the continuing (never-ending…) election season and all the drama surrounding it, I’ve been trying to stay aware and in touch with what’s going on outside Madrid. That’s why it was refreshing when my professor for “Spain and the European Union” started off our first class Tuesday by discussing what’s happening on Wall Street and reminding us that all eyes around the world are focused on our upcoming election (as well as making some Sarah Palin jokes, of course). As he put it, who becomes the next president of the United States matters just as much to Europeans as it does to us, except that they can’t vote. He also took time to compare our electoral process to the elections in European countries. Theirs tend to last only a few months, while ours has turned into an 18-month marathon of mud slinging and pandering. As he put it, whenever a country is going in the wrong direction, European voters automatically vote for a party elsewhere on the political spectrum, though whether that is good or bad is certainly up for subjective judgment. He also asked us why Americans have an aversion to voting for “elitist,” educated politicians, telling us that he’d love to have a beer with his neighbor but would never trust him to run the country. Clearly none of us could answer that question since we are all “elitist” according to the currently popular definition.

Later that night, as we were relaxing at a bar, a group of French guys insisted on asking us all whether we were voting for Obama and giving enthusiastic high-fives to those who answered in the affirmative. While those guys were kind of annoying, and most of us are tired of thinking about politics and are relieved to be outside of the United States during the final two months before the election, encounters like that make me realize that European and American interests are inextricably linked, whether we like it or not. I was initially excited to study abroad here mostly just to practice my Spanish, and I was actually a little disappointed that I hadn’t put myself on track to visit the Middle East, my main region of interest. But now I’m hoping that studying abroad here will help me learn more about the ways in which European powers rely on the United States, and in what ways we, too, depend on Europe to maintain our own strength. I’m interested to learning more about the power of diplomacy that holds the European Union together and perhaps even getting a sense of whether the average person’s attitude toward war and aggression are different than the prevailing views in America. Plus, it’s always interesting to hear an outsider’s perspective, and based on what my professor told us, I have a feeling that I’ll be hearing plenty of those as soon as the election results are in.

somewhere karl rove and dick cheney are celebrating

Ugh, this upcoming election has gotten even more frustrating and annoying than it was during that endless primary season. It's making me really glad that I'll be leaving the country tomorrow to study in Spain for the next three months. Besides the fact that Sarah Palin's voice is about the most grating, irritating sound in the entire world, she keeps repeating the same stump speech full of false assertions and dodging the issues entirely. Meanwhile, an old and bumbling John McCain keeps thumbs-upping (remind you of anyone?), riding the Palin wave, and flying under the radar (maybe he should have tried that tactic to avoid getting CAPTURED in Vietnam... ok that was bad of me, but come on, the man crashed like four airplanes. And none of that is relevant to his ability to govern). And now they've even hijacked Obama's change mantra, which simply does not apply to either McCain or Palin as the media has continued to reveal and the masses have continued to ignore. As his own campaign aide said, this election isn't about the issues; it's about personality.

You would think the American people would be smart enough to see through this facade. All the facts are staring Americans in the face: the scandals and ties to lobbyists, the voting records, the failed tax policies that promise relief to the very wealthiest and none to the middle and lower classes, the guarantee of continued Bush-Cheney policies on everything from the Iraq War to the economy, the skillful avoidance of discussing the actual issues. How can the Democrats even run an intelligent campaign when the opponent fails to engage? It's like trying to have a debate with someone who responds to every jab by sticking out his (or, more likely in this case, her) tongue and making googly eyes. Unfortunately, the vast majority of Americans lack the interest and attention spans for politics and fail to truly consider the issues beyond the political charades. Personally, I blame this at least partially on the ridiculously long electoral process that leaves everyone mentally exhausted and tired of politics long before the election takes places. If I'm completely tired of hearing about Obama and McCain, there can't be much hope that the majority of Americans haven't hit the proverbial mute button. Unfortunately, Rove-ian politics work wonders in a situation like that, and the McCain campaign is banking on the fact that most Americans don't care enough to really think about this historical decision. They're banking on ignorance, stupidity, and carelessness to get people to vote against their own interests. By focusing on babies, God, and hockey moms, the McCain campaign has effectively diverted attention away from the real issues. And that seems to work.

If McCain wins this election, Americans deserve for our country to continue the downward spiral of the last eight years. Unfortunately, the enlightened among us will be along for the horrible ride.