Climbing mountains

There are countless mountains in the world.  There are metaphorical mountains that come in the form of emotional or physical in which one must overcome in order to reach satisfaction.  Then there are actual mountains like the Alps and the Pyrenees in which you have to want to climb.  I did the latter.   I climbed the famed Pagasarri mountain in Bilbao.

 I was told by many people in Bilbao that I had to climb it before I could say I lived in Bilbao.  Since I have Fridays off and it was supposed to be a beautiful day, I decided to climb the famed mountain.  I called my buddy Andrew at 10 and we set off by 11.  I was armed to the T with my travel gear.  My camera, a makeshift camera bag, a rain coat, and a bandana.  My teachers said it was a piece of cake and that I could climb it in about an hour.  Let me tell you, Bilbaínas are filthy liars, however, I neglected to realize this until I was halfway up the mountain.

When Andrew and I first set off we saw all of the common signs of Bilbao: old men in berets, Basque separatists graffiti, and mopeds.  At first, I felt good about all of the signs, but the one I was most excited about was the 60 to 70 year old men that were on their way down the mountain by 11 am.  If they could make the trek in around 3 to 4 hours, then I could do this, but the further we went up the mountain, the more I couldn't help but hate the old men for making me look like a pansy.  Consequently, every old man that I passed would add an "aupa", which caused me to respond "aupa" in-between my frequent gasps for breath.

Besides my humiliation, the rest of the hike was wonderful.  We met some donkeys, Andrew took some much expected spills, we took lots of photos, and we got some hidden perspective of the natural side of Spain.  Needless to say, I'm addicted.   I need and want more.  If you ever travel to Spain, make sure you do more than just see the historical part of Spain. Get lost in the majestic of its wonderful landscapes.  Stay tuned.

S

Basic Spanish:
subir la montaña : Climb the mountain

Advanced Spanish:
Chollo : A good thing, bargain, nice person

Basque:
Zembat (sem-bat) : How much

British English:
Trainers : Running shoes

Shoes, Shirt, No Service

Oh Spain, if there's one thing your terrible at, it's service...of any kind.  You go shopping at Eroski (or any grocery store in Spain) and you'll probably get the same service at the cash register.  "Bolsa quieres?" (Do you want a bag?) and then they'll toss the bag at you, you'll spend the entire checkout trying to open the bag and then they'll give you the total while you're fumbling with bagging the groceries and paying the cashier all while moving on with the next costumer.  They never ask if they can help you find anything and only move if someone is stealing an item from them.

The latter I have nothing wrong with and I would say that it's only Spanish people who do this, but my worst experiences come from the "chino" stores (terribly politically incorrect, but I can't think of another way to describe the stores run by people of Asian descent, and the Spanish always call these stores "chinos").  As soon as you walk though the door someone is locked onto you like a tracking device.  Now I used tracking device instead of heat seeking missile because they don't actually come into contact with you.  They keep at a distance of anywhere from 4 to 10 feet and never take their eyes off of you.  I was doing some shopping today at "Euro", just your run of the mill "chino" stores, and almost immediately this woman in her 20's locked onto me.

The store consists of about 2 row groups of 5 rows each, so I tried an experiment, and began to circle the store at a rather rapid pace.  Sure enough, the woman was on me like a tracking device. I just couldn't seem to shake her.  First we did a lap around the store and then I dodged in and out of aisles like we were playing a game of hide and seek.  I would walk 3 aisles really quickly, then back 2, then forward 1, and finally back 1 again.  The whole time I could see her frantically trying to find me, looking down every aisle until she saw me and our eyes met.  I very politely gave her a little smile and a wave.  It was more or less a Phil Dunphy moment when he first meets Dylan, my wave and smile were saying we're cool, but my eyes were telling her to F-off.  She fled, I thought that she got the hint, but then I went down on aisle to look at folders, and she appeared on the other side of the store right behind me.  Mind you there were 5 other people in the store at this time and she had not once asked me if I needed help finding anything.  It was at that point that I thought to myself, "I might drop kick this woman if I stay any longer", so I left, but was half expecting her to follow me out of the store.  A truly traumatizing experience.  Stay tuned.

Spanish Basic:
Huelga : Strike

Spanish Advanced:
No se gano zamora en una hora : Rome wasn't built in a day

British English:
Spanner: Wrench

Basque:
Giltza : Key

Trying to cook Spain

After 5 months in Spain I have learned how to cook exactly 5 dishes; chili, general tso's chicken (which are both not Spanish dishes), a salad (chickpeas, cheese, lettuce, and imitation crab), a pincho (bread, pepper, eggplant, and jamón serrano), and prawns with grilled vegetables.  Basically, I've got some work to do, but it's OK, I enjoy cooking.

The experience has been made exceptionally better by a cook-by-committee system.  We have began a wonderful "family" dinner program once a week.  Now this is a great idea if you have adventurous friends.  We have one friend thats allergic to kiwis and another friend that only eats chicken, rice, onion, pepper, or pasta with curry powder.  However, we get past that with a lot of wine and alcohol to make us more adventurous.

The best part about Spain is that food is cheap, so when we mess up, its not a big deal.  Moreover, thanks to Top Chef, we are able to try to cook any dish we see on top chef.  Eggplant, prawns, breaded things, and "pair" them with a 2 euro wine.  Most of our creativeness comes from not having a working oven, which evidently can be "replaced" by a microwave.   The truth of the matter is that most "traditional" Spanish food comes pre-made in either a can or a bag.  Tortilla...bag, Cocido...can, pinchos...bag/box combo.  Even though it seems as though cooking traditional dishes is a useless skill of the past, I'm sure we'll continue to perfect authentic Spanish dishes.  In other words, for those of you who are coming to visit, you won't starve.  Stay tuned...

Basic Spanish
Cocinar: to cook (verb)

Advanced Spanish
el alto, la baja: OK to return to work, excused from work

Basque
galleta: cookie

British English
Crazy golf: Miniature golf

A bittersweet homecoming

Four years ago in the Winter/Spring/Summer of 2007 I embarked on a journey that changed my life.  I went with a wonderful group of people that I will remember the rest of my life and I would just like to say thank you to all of them.  I returned in 2009 for a quick hello to my professors and to my host mother and that was it.

This past weekend I revisited my past yet again, but this time I was able to share my experience with someone who had shared a similar experience, my girlfriend.  We went into it with mixed emotions and expectations.  We arrived late on Thursday night and headed immediately to the hostel, no detours and no walks down memory lane quite yet.  I will be the first to tell you I was a bit nervous to go to school Friday morning.  I checked my alarm 2 to 3 times, laid out my clothes, and even brushed my teeth.  I was ready to go.

Almost immediately when we left the hostal and I saw Valladolid in the light again I started recount the events of my past as though it was just yesterday.  Every street, nook, and cranny seemed to have a tale about some part of my past.  I recalled the store the girls went to to buy boots and the snooty store clerk that mentioned "Oh I can speak English too" when she overheard our conversation and the plaza where we graduated and got picked up for our many excursions.  Then there were the more personal memories of the ATM machine that I took out countless euros, the phone that I spent 2 hours talking to a credit card company's employee asking repeatedly "I have a purchase at a gas station in St. Paul last week, are you sure that wasn't you?" and I responded "No, I have been in Spain for the last two months, so that would be a physical impossibility".  Then there was the cyber cafe that I spent hours upon hours planning my numerous getaways and the building that I called home for almost 6 months.  And all of these memories entered my head before 10 am rolled around, but I wasn't the only one with memories.  Liz's head was filling with old memories also.  We were in a constant battle of who got to tell whose story next and whose experience was better.

School.  That was the most nervous that I've been in a while.  The whole time I'm thinking and wondering if the professors would remember me and then I thought, why would they remember me.  Am I memorable?  Do I really stick out, ever?  Then my head was spinning and I was recalling people that I studied with that they would remember.  Escott, Jefe, Elena, Mateous.  But let me tell you, it was a good thing that I was preoccupied with them remembering me that I didn't even have time to worry about speaking Spanish and impressing them.  And then it was the moment of truth.  Liz and I headed towards the sala de professores and peered though the window in the door to see Beatriz, Alfredo, Montse.  We knocked and headed in.  Needless to say at first it was awkward and we were greeted with a "si" and then after a bit of explaining and quizzical looks they finally remembered us.  Beatriz mentioned that Liz look the same and that I had changed a bit.  Also, I am happy to admit that my confidence in my Spanish grew a bit after a few early stumbles with Alfredo, but ultimately they were excited to see us.  Escott will be happy to know that Alfredo was eager to recount the story about him running around Las Medulas screaming "Esto es Esparta!!".  

Then Liz and I made some personal stops at our host mother's houses for a bit of success and a lot of Spanish.  It's been years since I've spoken so much Spanish that I thought my head was going to explode.  Carmen's house was almost identical to how I left it, except that my room was now occupied by a kid from Cedarburg (a town right next to my hometown in Wisconsin) and a 6'8'' giant of a man with a bit larger bed than my roommate had.  Of course I showed up unannounced for the second time in 4 years so my host mother wasn't prepared for lunch, but invited us back for dinner.  So we parted ways and Liz and I continued on our journeys down memory lane.  We got coffee at Panisimo, then onto Plaza Mayor, then to the "beach", and finally to Campo Grande.  Every inch of those places had a memory and they all brought me back to another time.

The last stop on our journey, after a wonderfully huge dinner at my host mother's house, was the Negra Flor.  Memories upon memories.  That was our spot and we loved it, however, it was one thing that had changed.  Big projection screens, very few college aged people, and a new bartender.  The only constants were Carlos, free shots, and two for one drink specials.  In addition, we were able to introduce a new generation of Eau Clairians to the Negra Flor.  Stay tuned...

Spanish Beginner:

Perdona: Excuse me

Spanish Advanced

Qué hablen de me aunque sea bueno: That people talk about me although it might not be good things. (you say this about people who want attention and don't care even if its bad attention).

Basque

Pringado (Prin-gow): Silly or weird

British English

Nothing today

Sports, an unconditional love.

I love sports unconditionally and what's more, my body hates me for it.  What's not to like, waiting until 2 am to watch a game and then having to work at 8:30 am the next day, watching the game on a slow stream, and flipping out when you miss a play or a series in which the other team scores and scrambling to fill in the blanks.  I think it slipped my mind when I was thinking what would be the worst things about going abroad, a list that I must admit was very short.  I thought about how hard it would be leaving my family (ok, I love them to death, but they're not going anywhere), or my friends (they were all heading in different directions anyway), or especially my kittens (who are now cats), but it hardly crossed my mind that I would be suffering the most from sports withdrawal.

Now that I'm away from my sports I realize that I was raised on sports.  I bled for sports, I yearned for the next game before the current game was even over.  I love competition and I need physical activity.  I hate running, but I'm willing to sacrifice it for the sake of the sport.  The worst hasn't been the lack of playing sports, mainly because I've come to terms with the fact that I could hardly run the length of a basketball court without being winded anymore, but the lack of ability to watch the games or enjoy them without worry about the speed of my internet connection.  Not to mention, and don't get me wrong, I've made great friends over here, but, I have yet to find a sports fan to rival me.

Photo courtesy of Elizabeth Pitt (http://lizenespana.blogspot.com/)

Since I can remember I was a Packer fan, which coincidently was the first year that Brett Favre took over the starting job from Don Macoski (not sure how to spell the last name, all I remember is that his nickname was the Magic Man, but ultimately not important enough to warrant this much of my time).  My brothers, my friends, and my relatives are all Packer fans (with the exception of my Grandpa Bardwell, who is a die-hard Lions fan).   So lets just say the Super Bowl was a tough one this year since it was the first time since 1997 that the Packers have played in it.  Many of you have been lucky enough to see my rants on Facebook when the teams look bad or my congrats if they look good.   Case in point, I struggle without a facet to vent my frustrations.  In closing, I would just like to say its not easy being a sports fan abroad, but it is possible, however, I regret to inform you'll that I'm pretty positive that sports will be the death of me.  Also, I realize that I can never come back to the United States now that the Green Bay Packers have won a Super Bowl while I was in Spain.  Oh well, there could be worse places to be forced to live.  Stay tuned...

For what it's worth

For what it's worth I do envy your life too.  I love and hate fielding the question; what are you doing these days?  Well, I'm teaching English in Spain.  I work 12 hours a week, have 3 day weekends, and the thermometer rarely dips below 40 degrees.  Not to mention, people pay me good money just to talk to them.  I don't mean to rub it in, but I don't how else to put it.  I could just say I'm teaching and forget to mention the fine print .  Yes, I'm living a dream and yes, I'm very fortunate, what's more, I'm glad I decided to do this.  I'm doing what I love.

However, I do envy your life every now and again.   This comes on the wake of snowstorms and Super Bowls.  This Sunday/Monday I would much rather be at my home with my family enjoying one of the best  Super Bowls with loads of food, snacks, and beer instead of watching it on my 13 inch macbook screen at 12:30 am Monday morning.  Also, I like snow...