Your Favorite Sister

Hey there, I've hijacked Hannah's blog.  Just wanted to see if she'd notice.  

What a good looking family!

And look at that cutie pie.  That's Hannah's mom, and her youngest neice ... it doesn't get much cuter than that!

Okay, sorry Hannah, you shouldn't leave your blogger account open on other people's computers! Love, your favorite sister.

Fugitive

I´m in Sevilla. Yesterday I saw a cleverly titled pamphlet in the tourist info office called ¨Youthing¨. It had listings for movies, clubs and plays for the next couple weeks. The very first entry was for a free film called ¨Brad, una noche más en las barricadas.¨ (Brad, one more night in the barricades). About the assasination of a journalist in Oaxaca. 8pm. 55 minutes long. What did I have to lose?

I googled the address, circled it on my map of Sevilla, and headed out towards what I expected would be a small, alternative, independant film theatre. Something like Liberty Hall maybe. What I found was something quite different.

The street the ¨theater¨was on was really an alley that turned a corner and then came to a stop where four blue wooden planks formed what resembled a door. One of the middle planks was torn off to make room for people and bikes to squeeze and duck through. It looked nothing like a small independant film house, but I knew I had the right street, so this had to be it. Upon entering (and I felt somewhat brave just for doing that) I was surprised to find that I was still outside, no roof overhead, and the surroundings were:

a table of miscellaneous flyers announcing upcoming activist events and current government proposals to be battled against,

a small tree in a pot and several small sad potted plants,

sheets of white crate paper taped everywhere with lists in marker of things to be done/ways to volunteer/volunteer schedules and duties etc,

a few hippie types,

a couple maybe-big-into-drugs types,

and all of this set in the entryway to a huge abandoned building, with random abandoned building crap scattered about and halfway torn down, halfway graffitied abandoned building walls.


I later found out it used to be a fábrica de sombreros (hat factory).


I had arrived late, but they were still in the process of setting up chairs and the computer in the room where the film was to be projected onto a cement wall. Then they had tech problems and sent a guy out on a bike to bring another computer, but that still didn´t work so we ended up not watching the movie.


But while waiting for them to start it I started talking to the two women in front of me, in Spanish of course. It was soon apparent that they weren´t Spanish, so I asked where they were from. England. We continued speaking in Spanish, however, because they were really serious about practicing. They invited me to another movie event they knew about that took place in an urban garden area. So I followed them there, where we checked out the garden´s compost heap (which Katie found lacking), checked out the figs of the nearby fig tree (overripe, dry, and a few with maggots), then helped ourselves to the tubs of free wine and beer. I met one of Katie´s friends named David, then watched a great portuguese documentary projected onto the side of one of the buildings surrounding the garden. It was called The Island of the Flowers. David invited us to go to a bar where he´d arranged to meet friends, so we went, and talked to his friends, one of whom lives on Avenida de Kansas City, one of the most important streets in all of Sevilla. She told me there´s a statue of an indian in the middle of the avenue.

The next morning I experienced one of the bigger coincidences of my life, but since I´ll be in the states tomorrow I will just wait and tell that story in person.

Right now I´m in an internet cafe hiding from my landlord, who doesn´t know that I didn´t move out of the apartment at the end of May. I was calmly packing my bags when Elvira came to the door to tell Belen and Raquel that someone was going to come view the apartment within 15 minutes. I hastily shoved everything into my suitcases and fled, and now I wait for the ´´safe´´ call from Belen.

surprise surprise

A lot has happened since I last wrote.

After Paris I went to Almorox to have a dinner with Melissa, Jessica and Merle. We finished dinner about midnight, stayed up till 3 talking, then went out to the bars and I finally got to play foosball. Over the course of the after dinner chat, someone said that Americans who never learned that song about the states couldn’t name all 50. I never learned the song, and took this as a challenge. Being fairly confident that I’d be able to come up with all 50, I passed out the pens and paper. Turns out, I got 46. Sorry Nevada, Minnesota, Wisconsin and Wyoming. Jessica only missed one, but she’d learned the song. Melissa and Merle, also songless, did worse than I did – Melissa squeaking out 42 and Merle a measly 38. Merle is the future teacher of the group.

A few weeks ago at school, Isa had some things to work on with Nuria, so she told me to take the 5-year old class to the recess area to play the games I knew with them (hide-and-seek, 4 corners). I’d told Isa about Sardines as well, and decided to play it that day. (Sardines = one person hides, the rest have to find her/him and hide with them…last person to find the group is it).

The recess patio is just the small concrete area around the school, without many hiding places, so the game was really more about running than seeking, and always ended with the entire class finding the hider within about 20 seconds. All was going well until it was Javier’s turn to be the hider. We counted. Javier hid. The kids ran around the building in opposite directions, and then we all, surprisingly, met in the middle with no sign of Javier. After about two minutes all possible hiding places had been checked and my heart rate had doubled. Maybe he broke the rules and hid in the lower recess area by the pre-school classes, I thought to myself. The other 13 kindergarteners quickly scoured this even smaller playground. Still no Javier. I told Isa and Nuria what had happened, my face obviously showing the anxiety any Auxiliar de Conversacion would have when a student disappears on their watch.

I stayed with the class while Isa and Nuria went to check the other playground. I heard Nuria ask if the front gate was open. It was. It had been open when we started the game and it hadn’t occurred to me to shut it. Javier is kind of a wily kid, the one the other 5-year olds are always telling on for annoying them. He’s also gay, according to Isa. But if there is any kid in that class who would take advantage of an open gate and run away from school, it is Javier. I should have thought to shut the gate. Now Javier’s gone and it’s my fault.

Or maybe he decided, right as it was his turn to hide, that he just couldn’t wait any longer to take a piss and went into the school’s bathroom without telling anyone.

Last week was the “Comenius Project.” Kids from Hungary, Romania, Poland, Italy, and a school in the Spanish town of Guadalajara all came to our school for a day of Traditional Games and cultural exchange on Tuesday. We had to be there early to set things up Tuesday morning, so Isa had the idea of spending the night at the school. Of course I was down, as were Nuria, Laura and Miriam. The idea was to get more sleep I think. In that respect it failed, because we stayed up until 1:30 drinking hot chocolate, eating apple bizcocho (spongecake) and talking. But it was a lot of fun, and I got to take this picture of Isa and Nuria in their colorful, flannel matching pjs that I think no one over the age of 8 wears in the US.

Tuesday went really well, Isa did a great job of organizing everything. Our students put on a big production of songs and dances, and I played “Jesu, O Joy of Man’s Desiring” as the opening act. It was a “surprise surprise” because none of the kids knew I played the violin until the curtain opened and I was on stage playing.

Sunday night Isa invited me to go out to dinner with her and her friends. She picked me up at 8:30, but said we had to go back to her house because she’d left the backdoor open and needed to go shut it and make sure the cat was inside. As we entered the house, the coat rack fell over, as it often does. I started to help Isa pick up all the fallen coats and she started saying over and over “don’t worry about it, don’t worry about it, I’ll get it, go to the living room, go to the living room.” It was so bizarre, I couldn’t understand why she was being so weird about the coats and insisting I not help her. The thought even crossed my mind that maybe there were drugs or something among them that she didn’t want me to see. I mean what else could cause her to act so strangely about me helping her pick up coats? So finally I took one coat into the living room, the lights were off but came on right as I entered. There was a few plates of food on the table, which confused me for half a second until 6 of Isa’s friends jumped out from their excellent hiding places, yelling “Sorpresa!” I jumped and screamed and then cried a little. They’d thrown me a going away dinner party.

Paris Take 2

Two weekends ago I went to Paris (again). But this time I was healthy and with friends. I met Janet Thursday morning in a metro stop in SW Paris, from there we met her friend Jeff (actually Jean-Francois) who took us to his cute studio apartment. Then Jeff and his brand new GPS took us to Versailles, where we spent the rest of the day. It was cool walking through the palace with a Frenchman, who, though not passionate about history (an “enginerd” as Janet says), obviously knows a lot more about French history than I do and pointed out important/famous portraits. It was V-Day too, so the fountains were running that afternoon in the gardens.

That night we went to a barbeque - French style - where we ate shishkebobs and sausages on hard bread, and Jeff and Janet both broke wine glasses. I won't go into details, but the next day involved a visit to the military museum where Napolean is buried, the purchase of a $12 (8 euro) box of tampons, Janet obsessing all day, a successful search for hydrogen peroxide (aided by a grocery store worker, a manager, a security guard, two friendly shoppers and a female pharmacist), an informative, quick, and free visit to the Louvre (Janet had an art history class), and Janet clutching my hand in a movie scene dash across a busy Paris highway.

Saturday I left midday to Madrid, but in the morning we visited the Eiffel Tower and then went on a fruitless search for tecktonik, the dance craze that's swept Europe's teenage population.

Pictures from Paris, and Toledo's party in the valley --

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2068144&l=3847c&id=36106375

more pictures from Prague

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2066980&l=14489&id=36106375

Did an allergy test today, don't have them.
8 school days left. Wow.
Going to the pueblo of Raquel, my principal, this weekend. Another look at Espana profunda.
Decided I really need to come back to Spain in a couple years and do this again. Probably in Madrid. Preferably with Janet, Laura and Mark. A combination of the three would be acceptable too though.

every man a Buffalo?

Prague continued...

That night at the bar Jon and Ashley and I also discussed the diet that Ashley is currently experimenting with – Raw foodism. The idea is that food loses its nutritional value when cooked above 115 degrees Fahrenheit, and that our bodies evolved to handle raw food, not cooked. So raw foodists pretty much eat only raw fruits, veggies, dried fruit, nuts and seeds. (no bread, rice, pasta, meat….) Ashley said it was really tough (duh!) and that she only succeeded in making about 80% of her diet raw, but whenever she went four or five consecutive days of 100% raw food she felt amazing. Jon said he didn’t like the terms “raw foodism” and “raw foodist” and suggested they be changed to “rawism” and “rawists”.

The next morning I was talking to my Australian roommate when I realized his t-shirt said “Kansas State Buffalo”. I’m kicking myself now for not taking a picture.

I invited myself to join Ashley and Lin for sightseeing that day. They said okay, and Jon joined us of course (he and Ashley had some “chemistry” going between them). We went back to the Old Town Square, where Lin and I went to the top of the Town Hall clock tower :

Then we met up with Kate and Maureen, and were going to go to a sex machine museum that those girls had heard about, but we ended up not going because it was too expensive, even with the group discount they gave us. At that point Jon had a total of 200 crown (about $13) to last him until he left Prague. He was planning on taking his guitar to the square the next day to go “busking” (playing in the street for money). He’d done it once before in Vienna and made 8 euro in one hour. I’m really curious about whether I’d be able to make any money playing my violin here in Toledo some Saturday afternoon, but I’m probably too much of a chicken to try it.

Since the sex machine museum was a bust, the six of us walked towards the Petrin Tower, and Eiffel Tower imitation that’s much smaller than the ET but on a hill, so you get a great view of Prague. But on our way across the Charles IV bridge we stopped to look at all the caricaturists, musicians and the old statues lining the bridge and ended up losing Kate and Maureen. So the four of us continued up to Petrin Tower, stopping in a hydrangea filled section of the hill to rest. Then we climbed a tree and took these pictures:

I’ve done a really bad job of describing this day, but maybe that’s because it would be nearly impossible to do justice to everything I felt that Saturday in Prague. I saw less “sights” than I’d planned on, but had a lot more fun than I would’ve had sightseeing alone.

I also ended the trip feeling as if the teasing of my college friends, who used to say that I’d grown up in a box (because, for example, I’d never seen Star Wars or American Pie), might have contained a lot of truth. After meeting so many people who knew so much about things that I only had a vague notion of, I really started wondering “what was I doing while these people were reading about/discussing/forming opinions on Darfur/Iraq/NATO/UN/Burma/China?” And I guess the answer isn’t that I spent too much time playing tennis or running or reading fiction (because I like doing all those things and don’t regret spending my time there), but maybe that I just wasn’t overly interested in world news in high school and college, that it’s more of a recent interest (perhaps encouraged by living in Spain and traveling) and I just have a lot of catching up to do.

honest Brits

Friday morning I woke up to Jackie and Miranda talking obnoxiously loud a little before 8am. They were leaving, Blake had already left, and Kate and Maureen were on a day trip outside of Prague. So I was going to spend Friday alone, but it seemed slightly less depressing because of those few hours of solid human interaction the night before.

This was the first trip I brought an umbrella on, and it’s really good I did because it rained most of the day Friday and I didn’t have Isa to lend me her umbrella, or Laura to sit in gelato shops with.

My first stop was an old Jewish synagogue that is now a monument to the 77,297 Czech Jews who were sent to the concentration camp at Terezin (near Prague) and later exported to death camps. There were three or four separate rooms with all the victims’ names, cities and the years of their births and deaths written on the walls. It was really powerful, especially sad were all the names followed by years like, for instance, 1935-1942. I had to suppress tears multiple times, which seemed strange, because I’ve known about the Holocaust for a long time, I’ve known that millions of people, including young children, died, but something about seeing those names on the wall just got to me. The other interesting part of the synagogue was an exhibition of a bunch of drawings made by children in the Terezin camp. Then just outside the synagogue was a Jewish cemetery where, due to lack of space, bodies were buried on top of each other until there were 12 bodies in each grave. The cemetery had about 12,000 gravestones and more than 100,000 people buried there.

The synagogue and cemetery were a bit of a reality check, made me feel pretty ridiculous for being sad because I was alone in Prague for two and a half days.

My next stop was the Prague castle, the old part of which I didn’t get to go inside because of some jewel exhibition that was free to the public (i.e. a 2 or 3 hour line). But I did see this church and street, called Golden Lane

and this house, where Kafka lived a couple years
and this statue
and a medieval prison that I forgot to take pictures of. And the changing of the guard.

That night at the hostel I was in pjs ready to call it a day when Ashley, Jon and Lynne checked into the adjoining room. Ashley (Canada) and Lynne (Bejing) are working in Vienna as UN interns. Jon (Los Angeles) is a firefighter/musician who met them on the bus and didn’t have a hostel arranged in Prague yet, so followed them to the Midtown. We talked a while in the hostel, then went out to a bar, where the first person we saw upon entering was Ben:

I wish I had gotten a full body picture, because his red skirt and red fishnet hose really made the outfit. He’s getting married in September, so he and his friends from Manchester were in Prague for the bachelor party. Oddly enough, he kind of reminded me of my brother-in-law Ryan. He resembled him in the face a little, but also because he seemed like he was probably a conservative, a “man’s man” as Berk would say, a wild partier, and a genuinely good person. (but yes, I know, Ryan Branam would never dress up like a woman). He’d served a couple years in Iraq and his left shoulder was covered with the same tattoo Duane Johnson (aka “The Rock”) has on his shoulder. He was telling me and Ashley of Duane’s new tattoo, and how he plans on copying it also. I asked why he would want to have the exact same tattoo as someone else, and his response was really honest. “Because I like it.”

We talked to some other guys in the bachelor party group, two of them had accents so thick I could hardly understand them. The third guy bought me a drink, admitted he was “chatting me up”, but did a fairly bad job of it. He kept talking about how he’s scared of women because women black widows eat their mate after sex, then told me I look like a female Harry Potter, and also that I am very intelligent but lack common sense. I asked why he thought I’m intelligent and he said because of the look, I apparently look nerdy.

Budweiser and Kofi

Regardless of how hard I tried to think positively, during my nine hour journey to Prague on Thursday I found myself not really looking forward to the trip, (almost dreading it actually) and filled with regret that I hadn’t gone to Turkey with Janet or to Slovakia to meet Krisitina (old roomie from Bath). I’d been feeling pretty lonely last weekend/last week, and wasn’t really sure I’d be able to handle two and a half days of solitary tourism.

I tried to be optimistic and tell myself that maybe I’d meet some cool people at the hostel. But when I arrived, those hopes faded fast. Aside from me and the middle aged receptionist who said “yeah” way too much, there was not a soul to be seen on either the second floor, where the reception desk was, or the third floor, where my bed was. The place was modern, clean, quiet and the last place I would ever be able to meet other fellow travelers to hang out with.

After checking in I walked the streets of Prague. It was 5:30, too late to go to any sites, but I did see the Charles bridge and the Old Town Square (which I later learned is in a book of 1,000 places to see before you die). I tried to take a lot of pictures of all the beautiful buildings (because I knew it would rain the next day) and to not feel sad about being alone, but failed at the latter.

When it got dark I went back to the hostel and was pleasantly surprised to hear English speaking voices in the kitchen. I went in and met Blake, a less attractive version of Kevin Wood who was taking a gap year and on the wait list at four med schools, and Jackie and Miranda, two fashion school students from Ohio who were traveling Europe as part of their studies, gathering inspiration from architecture etc. After about ten minutes Blake left to get more beer for everyone (they’d been drinking before I got there). And so I spent the night drinking Budweiser (the Czech kind) in the kitchen of the hostel where I thought I wouldn’t meet anybody.

Blake was pretty intelligent, and a bit of a talker when it came to medical stuff. He went on and on about nationalized health care, HIV and medical school admissions, which I didn’t mind because it was interesting and educational. Unfortunately he could be a bit condescending. For example, at one point I found myself listening to him explain that ethos, pathos and logos are three means of persuasion, and then went on to explain that “logos” is “logic” and even gave a short example of a logical argument. I should’ve told him I knew what logic meant and he could continue with his story, but didn’t. But in general a nice guy, he gave me one of his Tide white out pens and his allegedly broken cell phone.

He had an obvious crush on Jackie, and at midnight Jackie turned 23 so he sang her a serenade that he began writing shortly after I met them. I was expecting it to be a goofy, Keith Schnakenberg-esque spoof, thinking, “they’ve known each other a day…what could he possibly write about?” But I was shocked to hear the beating-on-the-table/humming intro followed by some really intense and well-sung lyrics. I think Jackie was surprised as well, but at the end she clapped and called it “fantastic,” which I noticed was also her response to virtually every joke he made, regardless of whether it was funny.

Shortly before the birthday serenade Maroc, a Polish actor, joined the group and a little later Kate and Maureen came in. They were from American University but studying at the Sorbonne. Kate spent a semester working in Kenya, helping musicians there get established or something along those lines. Maureen and Kate were also really intelligent and politically plugged-in. Kofi Annan even got brought up again. Here’s our group picture. (From left to right me, Maroc, Jackie, Kate, Maureen, Blake, Miranda).

a relief

I got a job! I had a phone interview with the Adaptive Recreation and Inclusion Services department of Topeka Parks and Rec today. At the end she offered me the job. "Program Aide.'' I'm really excited!

Mom, here's a picture I took in Morocco just for you and have been meaning to post for a while now. This was in Fez, right on the edge of the Medina (the old part of town).

tos saga continued...

The day after I was in Paris, I went to Nantes to see Janet. Despite my hacking cough we had a nice picnic next to the Nantes chateau, walked through the history of Nantes museum and hung out with Aurelian and his girlfriend in some sort of fair trade bar where Aurelian´s friend´s band played that night. Thank god for no smoking in French public places.

The next morning I woke up with a fairly sharp pain in the left side of my mid-back that hurt all the time, but especially when I coughed/laughed/breathed deeply. On the tram into Nantes I had a particularly strong coughing fit and felt a burst of pain in the same area, as if I´d fractured a rib or torn a muscle. Things went downhill quickly after that, as I kept having urges to cough but it was extremely painful to do so. I started crying, and concerned people on the tram began asking if I was alright.


I was pretty freaked out, not knowing if I had pnemonia, if my Spanish insurance would cover me in France, if I should go to the hospital/doctor there or try to hop on the first available train back to Spain. I also kept thinking about an article my older sister had sent me only a couple weeks earlier about a friend of hers who had died of the flu. The article described how one of her lungs had already filled with fluid by the time she reached the hospital, and at the time I could feel and hear (Janet could hear it also) a lot of crap floating around in my lungs.

I got a hold of Isa, who told me that I could go to the doctor there, keep the receipts, and my Spanish insurance would reimburse me. So Janet and I went to the ER in Nantes. It was quite disorganized, we waited for about 20 minutes on some chairs in a room/hallway area that also held three very elderly patients who seemingly did not have rooms (ironic given that there was a line on the floor in front of the reception desk that you weren´t supposed to cross for reasons of confidentiality). The woman waiting in front of us had been there 45 minutes and told Janet that there was only one nurse working that day because it was a Saturday. Janet, my translator and savior for the day, made a lot of expensive phone calls while we waited and ended up getting me an appointment with an on-call doctor in Carquefou, the suburb of Nantes where she lives and teaches. The on-call doctor diagnosed me with some type of lung infection (maybe bronchitis....there were some things lost in translation) and prescribed four different medications.

That was April 5th. This week, after 6 doctors visits to 3 different doctors in 2 different countries, I´m feeling health again. (The cough is still around, but not nearly as strong...it´s possible I might be allergic to something here). Por fin!

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2065662&l=c9396&id=36106375

pictures from france and a field trip

expensive cats

Paris - Thursday, April 3 (continued)

I stopped for quiche and coffee at a sidewalk café and got to witness some sort of demonstration. About a hundred seventeen year olds with one small banner walked through the middle of the street chanting (with varying degrees of passion) something.

On my way to the Louvre I stopped in some pet stores. 980 euro seemed to be the going rate for Labrador pups, I saw a 1600 euro Chihuahua, and a 3200 euro (that’s $4800) Siamese cat.

Back to the Louvre. I spent the first 2 ½ hours in the Egyptian section which was even cooler than I’d expected. Sarcophaguses, jewelry, furniture, a tomb, a mummy, a crocodile mummy and several cat mummies were the highlights for me. The last hour I walked around somewhat aimlessly, but did manage to find the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo before leaving. After a night of airport sleeping you can only spend so much time in a museum.

I started to walk towards the Eiffel Tower, but it was further than I’d reckoned so I went to the Arc de Tromp instead. I felt kind of weird about being in Paris and not seeing the ET up close and personal, but I also feel confident that, barring any unfortunate accidents, I will be back to Paris in my lifetime. (I also have a lot left to see of the Louvre).

That evening I went to an internet café near the hostel. I asked (in English) about using a computer, and the guy behind the counter started spouting off some really sassy sounding French. I should have said “hey I don’t speak French so if that’s a problem I can go elsewhere.” But instead I stood there looking dumbfounded until the guy said “you want to use a computer? Ok.” and pointed. I don’t know if he was anti-american, or just anti-anyone who doesn’t speak French in France, but either way he was one of the biggest jerks I’ve encountered in a while.

Ate dinner on the steps of Sacre Couer that night and got to see a much better view of the city. There were a bunch of people hanging out, a guy on an amped guitar singing “Yesterday,” and a kid at the bottom of the steps doing cool soccer ball tricks by himself. I finished my dinner in the courtyard of the hostel, where I met a bunch of guys who were staying there, including Arthur, a 40 year old New Yorker. One of the first things he told me was that I looked too sophisticated to be from Kansas. Then he asked if I was born in February or November. Then he guessed July 14, and when I told him he was close he said he always made that mistake with his ex-girlfriend (who looked just like me). Her birthday was July 15 and he always sent cards on the 14^th. He ended by inviting me to a party with him and four friends in Paris, then giving me his address in NY and a drunkenly tearful goodbye hug.

Paris

Got to Paris yesterday morning, figured out the tickets to get from the airport into the city, found the hostel without trouble. Climbed the hill to Sacre Couer, a church near the hostel where there is a good view of Paris. It was foggy so couldn't see much, but there was a really good violinist on the steps, which made for a nice atmosphere. Afterwards headed south towards the Louvre and Notre Dame. Saw a bunch of people on silver/brownish bikes that I quickly realized are part of a Paris bike program (Janet told me today that the first half hour is free!). Found the Louvre, which is ENORMOUS and very impressive, but almost makes you not want to go inside, because you know you're not even going to be able to see 10% of what's inside it's just so overwhelming.

I ended up walking to Notre Dame and doing that first. As I approached the entrance a woman asked if I spoke English, I said yes, she held up a card for me to read. "I am from Bosnia, living in Paris with my mother who has leukemia. My husband is back home with our sons and lost a leg in an accident. Please give me something for my family." I asked her a question about her mother, but she replied that she spoke ''little english.'' Maybe I'm a heartless person, but I didn't give her anything. I went into Notre Dame, which had very cool stained glass windows but otherwise wasn't overly impressive. On the way out another woman asked if I spoke English and held up another card. I didn't read the story, but the handwriting was remarkably similar to the first. The third time a woman asked if I spoke English I just said no. Part of me feels really guilty when I'm taking pictures of the outside of Notre Dame with my really expensive digital camera but don't give anything to a woman begging outside, but the other part of me rationalizes by saying that a couple euros aren't going to lift them from poverty, and that we're also in France, which has a ton of government aid for the poor.

tetilla

There is a type of cheese here called tetilla. Merle and Jessica came over last night and we ate one.








On thursday a neighbor of mine moved out of their apartment via this ladder mechanism that had a platform that went up and down with his suitcases, mattresses, and other things that would be a pain to move out of a 5th story apartment. I don't know if this method of moving is unique to Spain, or just to urban settings, but either way, it was the first time I'd seen anything like it.

285,406 registered Bimbos!

There was a news story a few nights ago about a new game on the internet where you have a character that you control and try to make her the prettiest, coolest, most popular girl. The prize for the winner is that she marries a millionaire. Most of the players are girls between the ages of 9 and 16. Here is the description of the game that appears on the homepage of the website (www.missbimbo.com if you're interested).

• Find your own cool place to live.
• Find a fun job to pay for your needs and all the clothes a Bimbo could possibly want.
• Shop for the latest fashions and become the trendsetting bimbo in town !
• Become a socialite and skyrocket to the top of fame and popularity.
• Date that famous hottie you've had your eye on and show the Bimbo world the social starlet you are !
• Even resort to meds or plastic surgery. Stop at nothing to become the reigning bimbo !
• Tackle your 104 tasks as quick as possible to become the rising star bimbo !!

Are you ready to become the hottest of hot Bimbos !?!

There were educators and doctors on the news program saying how it's a terrible influence and just promotes low self esteem and eating disorders. The game's creators were on for a second, 20-something British guys, they said they were just trying to make the game realistic.

On Wednesday at school I suggested to Lola, the teacher I work with in the 3rd-6th grade classes, that we do the Big Story idea that Isa's been doing with the 2nd graders. Basically it's a story that the class writes and illustrates, with one kid coloring a picture at home one night, then bringing it to school and telling the class what's happening in the picture. Then Isa translates their plot description into a couple simple English sentences which the kids memorize. The next night a different kid draws a picture, building off the previous day's plot and continuing the story.

So I explained the process to the 3rd and 4th grade class. Lola suggested we do a vote to decide who would write the first page of the story. The kids voted on little pieces of paper so it would be anonymous, and weren't allowed to vote for themselves. There were ten kids in the class that day (one girl was sick), four girls and six boys. It was a pretty evenly split vote. Moises won with three. But what surprised and saddened me while sorting the slips of paper was that, while every single boy in the class had received at least one vote, not a single girl had been voted for. Maybe it was a coincidence. Or maybe creative writing talent just isn't required to be the hottest of hot bimbos.

fluent people and pajama flossing

Lisboa continued….At lunch that first day with Isa and Lucia, in addition to explaining the functioning of the EU, Lucia also told me about a friend of hers who went to Brasil to live in a favela for a year (if you don’t know what a favela is, think “City of God.” If you haven’t seen the movie go rent it). The friend, a 20-something year old Portuguese girl, was kidnapped by the police. She had a black Brasilian boyfriend who the police also sequestered. They knew that if something happened to the girl, people in Portugal/Europe would cause problems for them, so one of them held a gun to the boyfriend’s head (knowing nothing would happen if he died) while a couple others escorted the girl to the ATM where she withdrew money to save her boyfriend’s life.

A few days later Isa and I met up with Lucia and a group of her interpreting school friends in the metro station. From there we walked through the city, stopping at a super tiny fruit/vegetable/beer store for bottles of beer that we opened in the store and sipped in the street on our way to a “park.” I say “park” because I don’t know how else to call it, but it was a small café with outdoor seating next to a strip of grass all next to a “paved” (i.e. white and black tiles hammered into the ground, just like all the sidewalks) area overlooking the enormous river Tajo. It was 5ish on a Tuesday, and there were several other groups of young people sipping beer, hippy types smoking weed, an angry guy on a guitar and two young pitbulls that occasionally broke into our circle of future interpreters sitting cross legged on the ground.

Lucia’s friends were from Portugal, Spain, Poland and Norway and were all fluent in at least four languages. I was definitely the slow one of the group, with my sort-of two languages and pitiful knowledge of the world. I did my best to follow the conversations (which were almost all in Spanish) and not look bewildered when they kept making inside jokes about Kofi Annan, whose name I recognized but only in the “I should know something about this person but don’t” way. On the way to the park I talked to Sara, a girl from Valencia, who asked me what the capital of Kansas is, adding that she was ashamed of herself for not knowing it. I assured her that not knowing about Topeka is nothing to be ashamed of, but she disagreed. But don’t get me wrong, my slight discomfort at feeling ignorant and slow on the language uptake was well worth the cool experience in the park that day. And I was even proud of myself at one point when Sara and co. had a conversation about “consoladores” which I followed quite well (thanks to Isa asking me in January how to say “consolador” in English).

The night before we left Lisboa, I taught Isa how to floss. She had mentioned to me a few weeks ago that she bought floss but never used it because she didn’t know how. Apparently flossing is a novel concept here. So I taught her that night, and she seemed somehow much younger than 28, maybe due to her baby blue matching pajamas with cartoony coffee mugs, or perhaps just how she shrieked gleefully every time she flossed a new tooth and saw what a difference it made. I’d never really watched someone else floss before, and it was a little gross at times, but her pure delight and exclamations that “de verdad quita la mierda!” made it worth it. At one point there was some redness on the floss. I told her it’s normal for there to be blood the first time and we both giggled.

tos

I´ve had a cough for two weeks now. I feel fine and don´t have any other symptoms, so I´ve been waiting for it to go away on it´s own, but people at school have been commenting, and last night it kept me awake a little, so I decided it´s time to go to the doctor. Isa made an appointment for me, it´s for 7:15 this evening. She has a neighborhood meeting or something so she´s going to take me but not stay, so it´ll be interesting to see how I do solo in a Spanish doctor´s office. More to come on Lisboa soon hopefully....

picture links

Here are the pictures from this past week in Lisbon, and also from Morocco.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2064186&l=65526&id=36106375

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2061852&l=19a91&id=36106375

Isa and I arrived in Lisbon today. Lucia, Isaºs little sister who is my age, picked us up at the airport and we took a Mercedes cab to her apartment. It appears that most if not all of the taxis here are old Mercedes. Her apartment is sweet, there are orange and lemon trees outside her bedroom window and an awesome view of this beautiful city with the Tajo river in the background. We first went to the grocery store to buy food for the next 5 days and I took a picture of the Bacalao, a type of fish (cod maybe) that is huge here, which was just out on tables, dry and unrefrigerated. The sidewalks here are made of squarish stones hammered into firm mud to form mosaics, or if not mosaics just really cool sidewalks. The buildings are so charmingly old and the majority have blue, green, yellow, pink designed tiles on the front...words canºt really describe how cool the buildings are here. We stumbled upon a circle of teens doing a funky dance that I think is the *tectonic* dance that Janet says is all the rage in France. It looked like a european version of the thing Laura does with her arms sometimes, itºs really cool, I took a couple videos but of course when they saw me with the camera they all stopped dancing and looked at me. Lucy is working on her masterºs in interpreting here, sheºs fluent in 4 languages, but apparently also brilliant about EU stuff and told me all about it over lunch.

procesión bonita

I ran into Marie Carmen on my way home yesterday. She invited me to go with her and Darcy, the girl from Ohio, to a procession in el Casco. She said it would be a beautiful procession, unlike anything I´d ever seen. She said Darcy was going to actually be in the procession and I could be in it too if I want, just wear black pants and a black t-shirt. I said I didn´t have black pants but had very very dark jeans, she said it was okay, just as long as everything was very dark. So I met them last night at 10:15, Marie Carmen put a black veil in my hair to match the ones she, her daughter, and Darcy were wearing. I told her I wasn´t Catholic, or even religious, and she said it was okay because God accepts everyone, and then asked me a couple more times what religion I am. It took us a solid 20 minutes to find a parking spot in el Casco, even with Marie Carmen´s mom´s handicapped sticker. So we arrived late at the procession and joined in towards the end.

There were two seemingly endless lines of women (only women participated, that´s what makes it such a beautiful procession, according to MC). I later learned that there were about 600 total, most of them were over 45, but there were some young women and girls as well. Everyone was wearing all black -- skirts, hose and heels, or at least dress pants and dress shoes. I was in a long sleeved black t-shirt, arguably black jeans, and gray running shoes. We all held white candles and walked slowly through el Casco for over an hour, and the streets were lined on either side with people watching. I made eye contact with several people I caught staring at me, and had to struggle at times to keep a straight face because I think the procession was supposed to be a solemn event, but I couldn´t help but being amused at how utterly ridiculous I must have looked.

purple and red

Sunday I was walking to the locutorio and thinking to myself that the older woman walking up ahead of me looked ridiculous in her high, purple stiletto heels. A moment later, almost as if she'd felt me staring at her, this woman (who wasn't as old as I'd originally thought) turned and asked me if I am from Nebraska. I said no, Kansas, how did you know? She replied that she lives with two girls from Ohio in the house (pointing) above the pepsi cola machine and that they know a girl from Nebraska etc. etc. We had a short conversation in which she told me I speak Spanish perfectly and invited me to come to "her house" (she said this part in English) any time I wanted to talk. I said ok and walked away, not knowing her name or where she lived (there weren't any pepsi machines where she pointed, just two coke machines and a water bottle machine).

Monday on my way to the library I saw this woman again, in almost the exact same place on the sidewalk, and we exchanged holas. Then, on the way back, a dog barked at me from a second story balcony where a woman was hanging laundry -- her again! I learned her name is Marie Carmen and she works in the Bazar below her ''house,'' and that I am welcome to visit her there any time. I probably will go do that soon, as I can use all the extra Spanish practice I can get, and she seems like a potentially very interesting character, though I have a slight suspicion that she's maybe been watching me or something, since she seemed to know me on Sunday and lives and works on a street I walk on at least a couple times a day....

Last night I was on the way back from the library listening to my ipod. As I passed Pan y Mas (the 24 hour bread store) I heard a man's voice trying to get my attention from behind and thought I'd somehow dropped something. I turned around, took out my earphones and looked for my dropped item in the man's hands but saw nothing. He was mid-30's maybe, fairly overweight by Spanish standards, in a red tracksuit and in need of floss, and he asked me if I usually go out a lot in Toledo on the weekends. I said no, not really. He explained that he and his friend, the other 30-something standing beside me, know two really cool chicas and the four of them go out a lot and they are looking for more people to go out with, to have a bigger group of friends. I was having a hard time understanding them, and asking for a lot of repititions, and finally explained that I'm from the US and don't understand everything when you speak really quickly. Neither of them slowed down, but I was able to get the gist of what they were saying -- the girl friends are foreign too, one English, one Polish, the English girl is an English teacher here, maybe the Polish girl too, something about phone numbers, something about going out together. I got out my little black book of Spanish words and helpful websites and other necessary information and wrote down Ruben's number, telling him that if someday I'm in the mood to go out I'd give him a call, and thinking that would be a nice ending to our convo. But then, of course, he asked for my number. I gave it to him, not having the heart to tell him that I'm nearly positive I won't be joining his group of friends because this is all a bit too weird.

I walked home wondering ''why me?'' Maybe they only approach foreigners, and, as Isa frequently reminds me, my Americanness is visible a kilometer away. Seemed a likely scenario, given their other two alleged friends' nationalities. Or maybe I just look reaally nice, and that's why people in Madrid and Rome always asked me for money and Laura for pictures. Back home, I began telling Belen about my run-in but she interrupted me early on.
"What was his name?"
"Ruben, why?"
"I know him too."
Last year she'd put up posters offering to tutor kids. Ruben called asking her to be part of his group of friends. She'd said no, but he kept calling every week for quite some time. She said she knows other people who have had similar experiences, apparently he dedicates himself to this search for people to go out with on the weekends. So I guess I have a lot of phone calls from Ruben to look forward to. I think I'll stick with Marie Carmen.

Sebastian

Saturday February 2 (cont.)

After the long chat with FS we walked through the town. We

got offered weed several more times,
saw the biggest pieces of hanging raw meat I’ve ever seen,

went to the port,

went to the skala (a long line of canons pointing out towards the sea through the city walls),

saw a fight caused by a drunk guy,

went to two free art galleries,

visited some shops where the salesmen offered to swap their

merchandise for something of mine –one liked my purse, the other my coat,

walked 45 minutes along a nearly deserted beach to a small island where a castle used to be.

We were followed on part of the trip by a guy with a couple horses offering horseback rides to the castle, and later by a guy with a dromedary (not a camel) named Sebastian. The second guy was more persistent, offering first to let Sebastian take us to the castle, then pictures with Sebastian or petting him. He kept saying “no money, no problem,” and though I would’ve been down with a free dromedary ride to the castle, we kept refusing, knowing that in the end, if we took the ride and then said we didn’t have money, there would almost certainly have been a problem.

On the way back we stopped at a fairly classy restaurant. Mark had spaguetti, I had couscous, the food was amazing and it cost a total of 77 dirham (about 10 bucks).

orange crocs

Saturday, February 2

Friday night we were woken three times by singing from the 4-way loud speaker of a nearby mosque.

We left the hostel a little before 7:00 Saturday morning. It was weird seeing the city, especially the plaza, so calm. We arrived at the bus station half an hour early to get seats for our 8:00 trip to Essaouira, a coastal town we’d discovered while doing Morocco research online. The bus was mostly empty. The Berber pharmacist who invited us for tea the day before had warned us that buses in Morocco are very unreliable, they’ll say they’re leaving at 8 and won’t pull out till 10 or 11. It was a slightly uncomfortable waiting period, not knowing if the bus was actually going to leave that morning, or if it really would arrive in Essaouira. A blind man, a crippled man, and people selling candy and pastries walked up and down the aisle of the bus asking money from their relatively captive crowd. We were optimistic when the engine started up at 7:45, and to our relief we took off at 8:01.

Across the aisle there were two Norwegian girls who could have easily been mistaken for British given their accents and level of English. Before departing, our bus was loaded up with newspapers in Marrakech, which were distributed at several points along the way. The bus would basically come to a rolling stop, some waiting guys would come toss out a few bundles of newspapers, and we’d be accelerating again usually before they had the door closed.

When we got off the bus in Essaouira, a middle aged woman in traditional Muslim dress and orange crocs approached me and asked if we wanted a place to stay for 50 dirham per person per night. I remembered reading in a wikipedia article that this would happen – women in this town will be waiting for you at the bus station and will offer to let you stay in their homes. What I couldn’t remember was the advice it gave, I thought it was either “take advantage of this great deal” or “stay away there’s usually bed bugs.” But for 100dh it was worth checking out. So we followed her back to the third story of an apartment building, where she showed us a room with a fantastic view of the ocean and the sound of horses trotting in the street below. The sheets looked clean too, so we said OK.

After lunch at a street side sandwich joint we began to look around town. We didn’t walk far before being offered weed by a friendly guy who, upon learning we were American, introduced us to his friend, a Fulbright Scholar who is going to the states next year to study in either New York, North Carolina or Wisconsin. FS was even friendlier than his dealer friend and spoke fabulous English, and we stood talking to him in the street for over an hour. He did most of the talking, discussing English grammar, Moroccan culture, American history, his cousin’s exorcism, and some complicated sounding linguistics stuff that I didn’t quite follow. But despite how super nice he seemed, Mark and I both had that same nervous feeling we’d gotten the previous day, thinking somehow this hour long conversation would wind up being a salespitch, an offer to be an Essaouira guide, or some other attempt at getting money from us. Luckily, we were wrong. The conversation ended with cheerful goodbyes and I felt guilty for suspecting FS of being something other than an ultra friendly genius.

bulldog clip

Janet and her Australian friend Gen came to visit on Wednesday. Thursday we saw the sights in Toledo and made paella, which turned out okay but would’ve been a lot better if I hadn’t forgotten to add salt.

Friday we did Madrid. We started off with the Rick Steves’ walking tour, which was interesting but got interrupted when an old man asked if we needed help finding something. He was probably almost 70, with glasses, white hair, holding a plastic bag and wearing a red bulldog clip on his sweater where the button holes are. I told him we were looking for “Calle del Codo” (Elbow Street) and he escorted us there, remarking several times about the funny name and how the street really is shaped like an elbow. We came out on a plaza, which he gave us the history of in a mixture of Spanish and French. He explained that he would love to stay with us all day and show us around, but he had just bought an old iron and someone was coming to pick it up between 12 and 2, so he had to be going. Then he walked with us one more block to show us a church and a monument to victims of a bombing that occurred on the current king’s grandparent’s wedding day. But then he really had to be going, so he told us we were charming and left.

We continued on to the Royal Palace. Janet and Gen went in; I stayed outside and read and overheard an American man looking for a port-o-potty in the space between the Palace and Cathedral. After the Palace we went to Retiro Park where Janet and I found some really unique playground equipment and played on it while Gen read on a bench nearby, probably embarrassed to be with us.

Friday, February 1 (continued)

That afternoon Mark and I walked through the Souk, an enormous covered market area. As we came out of the Souk and were looking for the Ben Yussef museum, a boy approached and asked what we were looking for. He pointed in the direction of Ben Yussef, then pointed in the opposite direction and told us there was a leather auction that day at the tannery, which was very close.

So we walked down the street he’d pointed to, expecting to see or hear signs of a leather auction at any moment. A tall guy in his late teens passed by us and informed us of the auction that was happening that day, we told him we already knew and were on our way. His name was M___ and he seemed quite friendly, we made small talk as the three of us walked through the increasingly less touristy parts of Marrakech. After a few minutes M pulled a picture from his pocket of his “father” working at a tannery. It soon became apparent that the auction was not close, as promised by the young boy, and that we were now becoming somewhat dependent on M as we followed him to his “father’s” tannery. We passed an almost dog fight, groups of kids playing soccer in the street, and also witnessed a little boy who couldn’t have been more than 6 years old beating the crap out of a boy who couldn’t have been more than 4 while an adult man sat observing a few feet away. M said it had something to do with the younger boy not going to school that day.

Finally, we reached the tannery and met M’s “father,” who, based on significant physical dissimilarity, could not possibly have shared genes with M. (Only later did I realize that the picture in M’s pocket looked more like a small postcard or magazine clipping than family snapshot.) Dad gave us mint leaves as “gas masks” to cover the horrific stench of the tannery. There were no signs of an auction, instead, Dad invited us inside and began giving us a private tour. We followed him between piles of sheep and camel skins, trying our best to sidestep the mud that was everywhere without falling into the large wells of mysterious liquids. His English was nearly impossible to understand, with the exception of the perfectly pronounced words “pigeon shit,” which occupied many of the wells. (I learned later that a four day soaking in pigeon shit is part of the leather making process). Dad encouraged me to take pictures, so I did, but hurriedly, wanting to get through the tour as quickly as possible. It was cool getting to see the tannery, but also somewhat uncomfortable because of the lurking sensation that there would be a demand for money at the end of this unrequested tour. After ten minutes or so, we left the walls of the tannery and Dad dropped us off at a leather shop. Bags, shoes and poufs surrounded us as we politely explained to the salesman that we weren’t in the market for leather. He gave us the typical incongruent farewell, saying “have a nice day,” but with a tone of disappointed annoyance in his voice and face.

I thought maybe that was it, the tour was just a build up to the leather store, where they hoped you’d buy something as a tannery souvenir. Dad was there when we exited the store, he said something incomprehensible to us and started walking back towards the tannery. I asked Mark if that was it. He wasn’t sure but said we should bail while we had the chance. But then Dad reappeared and motioned for us to follow him back in, so we did. We walked around more of the tannery. There was one lone, live sheep walking around. The nervous feeling in my stomach lingered, but there was also a thought that maybe this tour was just some hospitality gesture/mild sales pitch, like our two servings of tea that morning.

That thought was quickly driven away by M, who was standing outside the tannery when we left again. He told us to give something to Dad, and suggested 150dh (approx $21). He kept saying that his dad was the boss, and for this reason we had to give him something, but it wasn’t for him, it was for the workers inside. I protested, saying that he hadn’t said anything about money before. Again he replied with “but he’s the boss, you have to give him something. Give him 50 dirhams.” I got out my wallet and offered 10. The boss cringed at this, yelling “this is nothing!” So I added a couple more coins, a total of 16dh. The boss was still disgusted and he and M both maintained that it was “nothing.” I refused to offer more, repeating my argument that they should’ve been upfront in telling us that they wanted 150dh for the tour, because we wouldn’t have done it if we’d known. Given their level of English I’m sure they didn’t understand what I’d said, but they understood that I wasn’t giving them more money and were pissed. The boss ended up taking the 16 dirhams and walking away.

We followed M back towards where we’d met him, but this time he had no friendly small talk. He took us part of the way back, pointed in the direction we need to continue, and asked for money for guiding us. I was pretty put off by how underhanded the whole thing seemed, how he’d pretended to just be a friendly guy, gained our confidence, then dropped us off with his “father” and later demanded payment for something we hadn’t asked for. So I offered him 5dh. “What is this? This is nothing!” he exclaimed. I told him we were young people on a budget and felt somewhat tricked into the whole deal, so that was all I could give him. “Why you come to Spain, why you come to Morocco if you no have money?!” he asked before storming off.