2011 In Review

Wall Street, January 1, 2011

I started the year in a Downtown Manhattan apartment with some friends and hoped that getting away from my family and spending NYE in NYC would be the perfect way to ring in the new year and maybe bring in a little luck.  It didn't, but it was still the greatest NYE experience I've ever had.  So many, many thanks to Emma and Olivia for an awesome time.

I had a two-week job at the end of February and into March watching a nine-month old baby during a seminar in Toronto and was paid (in cash) for my efforts.  The weather started getting warmer in April and that was when I started exploring more of Toronto, and even though I still wouldn't say I'm an expert in every nook and cranny of the city, I definitely got to know it better than I had in the winter.

In July my dad was offered this job here in South Carolina and he came down to start in September, and in October I came down with my mom to stay permanently.  I'm still hoping to get out sometime soon, but it has less to do with South Carolina and Greenville themselves and more with my unwillingness to spend too long in a small town with very few employment opportunities.

Toronto, ON, Canada, September 3, 2011

Overall, it's been a slow and frustrating year, as as far as tax records go, I spent the entire year unemployed.  But I certainly have learned a lot about myself, both positive and negative (possibly more negative than positive, but I'm already a bit of a pessimist as it is), and through different volunteering activities I've still been able to maintain and develop my skill sets.

Here's hoping I can get one step closer to finding myself in 2012.  I'll try to be optimistic.

And while I'm not much of a New Years Resolutions kind of person, I'm going to try to resolve to be more open with people, and more willing to get myself out there more, even if it means leaving my comfort zone for a little while.

Option #1

I always swore to myself I'd never teach English.  The number one reason was because I don't teach.  I can't teach.  I lack the patience and the skills, and people's inability to learn things that I know is frustrating to me (and frustrating to just about everyone else, which probably explains a lot, really, but I am honestly trying to work on that).  The number two reason is that I really don't want that kind of responsibility.  What's funny is that in the US, whenever you explain to people that you're a foreign language major they always (well, almost always) ask "Do you plan to teach with that?"  This is amusing to me because in Europe, studying another language means working in that language, it means studying philology and history and culture and translation.  Not teaching.  Apparently it's an American thing that I will probably never understand, but whatever.  I've always kind of resented the whole "Do you want to teach" mentality though, because no, I don't want to just teach, I want to do so much more with my language skills than explain to people how and when to conjugate the subjunctive.  Which isn't a bad thing, per se, it's just not for me.

But I'm beginning to change my mind.  At least somewhat.  My brother was offered a position as a TA (Teaching Assistant, someone who works directly with a professor at a university) in Korea for an English program via a friend, and it really got me thinking.  Considering my status right now and my complete lack of employment or much else, why not do this.  Or at least look into it.

There's a program that the Spanish Ministry of Education does with students and recent grads from North America with the purpose of working with an already established English teacher in Spain, so that they can explain to Spanish kids what goes on in their country, US or Canada, and help them with their English/French skills.  You can even choose which Comunidad Autónoma you would prefer to be in, though not the city, and earn a monthly stipend.  There's another program that does teaching opportunities in Spain that I'm looking into but it involves teaching to professionals.  It's only in Madrid, but Madrid is central enough that it'd be impossible for it to not work.  To be honest, I'd rather stay in Madrid than somewhere like Andalucía anyway.  I mean, my best friend's boyfriend studies in Madrid so she's out there every couple weekends or so to visit him.

I've actually already started filling out the application for the second program.  There are a few minor bumps in the road but nothing I can't get taken care of soon, aside from the 50€ application fee, but that's not really so bad.  I just haven't even finished with this thing yet and I'm getting excited.  I still have to find some kind of employment, or at least some means of income, until next September when the program begins, but by then I should be out of my little funk anyway.  Any possibility I can find to get my ass back home I'm on board with, really.  And I'd rather deal with adults than kids, and I'd live in Madrid if I had no other choice, especially since my best friend is connected to the city (and I could still go up and visit her too).  This is about the only other way I can think of to find employment in Spain and to be able to get out there and stay there and not have to worry about being there for too long.  Last time I was there for a month and it very nearly broke me.

I may not be a teacher, but hopefully I may not even need to make a career out of it.  I may be able to get another visa to stay doing something else, who knows.  But at least I'll have a definite plan for the nine months of the school year...and then we'll see.

What do you all think of this idea?  I'm always afraid to lay out any plan I have that I get excited about because it almost always ends up badly, but at this point, the worst that can happen is that they tell me I'm overqualified or something or that I can't come up with the money for the application fee or the visa at all (I need everything ready before March).  And then I can still try to find a job for the next nine months until I'm ready to go.  It's just...it's Spain, guys.  It's home.  Where my parents aren't breathing down my neck and criticizing every move I make because I can't get a job.  Where I can actually have good ol' old fashioned fun because I know people.  I'm probably building this up a little more than I should since nothing at all is finalized and I haven't even told my parents yet.

I just...

SPAIN.


I'll sleep on it and come back in the morning with a post for the New Year, since I missed Christmas.  Oops.

Mi vida da asco

Por enésima vez en el pasado año y medio estoy desesperada, con una frustración que no puedo más con ella.  Llevo año y medio buscando trabajo donde lo haya, sin conseguir nada más que entrevistas para puestos que no son nada adecuados para mí y recibir correos electrónicos explicándome que han eligido a otra persona para el puesto y buena suerte o, peor aún, no oír nada.  Porque lo de "lo siento, pero hemos ocupado el puesto que solicitaste" al menos me dice que han pensado en mí.  ¿Lo de oír nada?  Vamos, a mí no me jodáis, ¿eh?

Normal families go shopping the day after Christmas, mine goes to art museums.

Life has gotten more interesting chez Ella.  My youngests brother and sister are home from university, and my brother will be here through January, my sister leaves on the 3rd for an Interim (Winter Break) class in Venice (yes, that Venice).  I still don't have a job, which is incredibly frustrating when I was told two weeks ago by an employment agency I'd registered with (and applied for a W4 with) about an opportunity but then it never came to fruition.  So it's back to square one I guess.

Christmas was about the same as it always is for me; not as disappointing as previous years but because of my (stupidly) high expectations about the holiday I still wasn't as content.  But then again, I haven't had a Christmas to my expectations since I was 10.  So there's that.  I did get one thing I wanted though, so I'm not as bitter as I've been in previous years.  But I'll stop whining now.  I'm just happy my parents can finally afford to have a good Christmas.  It's been far too long.  That and the fact that I've felt the love that you're supposed to feel at Christmastime for other reasons, so complaining is pointless.  Overall, it's been a wonderful holiday.

Yesterday we drove two hours south to Atlanta, Georgia in order to check out the "From Picasso to Warhol" exhibit at the High Museum of Art.  It's an exhibition of paintings of on loan from the MoMA in NYC of painters of twentieth century art including Fernand Léger, Joan Miró, Marcel Duchamp, Louise Bourgeois, Jackson Pollack, Jasper Johns, and others with the theme of "graphic art".  While the rest of the High doesn't have as impressive a collection, the special exhibit was impressive.  It was probably the next best thing to going to the MoMA in Manhattan, where I still have never been and yes, it eats at me constantly.  I've written about my background in art appreciation a few times, and while I can't say I'm an expert in amateur art appreciation, I like to think I've seen enough world-renowned paintings in person to be able to say that I know my fine art (Velázquez's Las Meninas and El Greco's El Entierro del Conde de Orgaz are life-changing in person, as are Dalí's El Gran Masturbador and Girl in the Window as well as  Picasso's Guernica).  And because the buildings that house major modern art galleries are designed specifically for that purpose, I can feel like I'm a millionaire just by looking closely into Mondrian's Trafalgar Square hung on a white plaster wall.  Right now, I feel like I could walk into the Mies van der Rohe pavilion in Montjuïc and feel like I could own the place.  That building is actually what I'd love to model my dream house on, if I ever had the money.  But that's another story for another day.

So really, as much as I like to complain about the current state of my life, self-inflicting or not, with a little less laziness and a little more assertiveness, I think I really could own everything I could be and should be.

But before I forget, I've jumped on the Spotify bandwagon.  Click the button below to check out my profile and some of the playlists I've created!  There's a "Barcelona Summer Nights" one that I'm really excited about.


/shameless plug

Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away

 I've been applying for some jobs lately.  We just moved into a new house, the first house my parents have owned since 1996 when we sold our house in Neenah, Wisconsin before moving to New Jersey before we moved to what we thought was France but ended up being Spain.  So I can finally put down a real address on my résumé, though I'm still lacking a cell phone number.  Home phone will have to do.

I'm honestly one of those people who has a really hard time trying to figure out what she wants to do with her life.  I don't know.  There are only a few conditions I have for a job I'll enjoy, and those are frequent travel and the ability to use my language skills.  Which admittedly aren't that impressive since three of the languages I speak are Romance languages, but hey.  At least I'm not monolingual, right?  *winkwinknudgenudge*

A couple weeks ago, my best friend in Hawaii told me that Continental Airlines, based out of Houston, TX with a major hub in Newark, was hiring flight attendants and that she had applied.  I found the application, filled it out myself, and just last Friday, after getting an earful about how I really need to just get out there and get a job from my lovely parents, I looked around for other airlines that were hiring, and filled out two more applications.

The truth is, at the moment, flight attending is my dream job.  I can partly blame the current TV series Pan Am for that, but most of the blame lies in the fact that I have been traveling since I was little.  My very first memory is of me, in the back seat of a car, craning my neck out the window and looking at tall buildings on both sides of the street.  My first memory is of Manhattan, on my way to fly out to Wisconsin with my mom right after turning two.  I've been told that a person's first memory can, apparently, explain a lot about a person: where he or she's going in life, who he or she is, what makes him or her tick.  So I guess traveling's in my blood, so to speak.  Since then, I've been on planes out to Denver (when I was six and we were going to visit my dad's brother who lived out in Colorado Springs), Spain, Paris, London, Oslo, Brussels, Switzerland, New York.  I've driven through Spain, France, Germany and Italy and across a few states as well.  Up until 2004, I was on approximately six planes a year, sometimes more.  Before I got a new passport in 2007, I'd gone through two, and the last one had all but two pages filled with stamps and three student visas.

 My life has been duller than imaginable since the summer of 2004 when I came back to the States after graduating high school.  It took me two years before I was in an airport again, two years since I was on a plane again (even if it was only domestic), and I didn't leave the country again for four years.  And now, the prospect of spending very near the rest of my life traveling, going from airport to airport, country to country, a couple days here, a couple days there...getting cheap, sometimes free, flights for a vacation to anywhere else I want to go, and being able to meet and talk to people from so many different countries; some diplomats, some tourists, some businessmen and women, is a thought that does nothing but thrill me.

To be fair, only one of the positions I applied for fulfills those requirements.  Another is for an airline that flies domestically but within major cities and to Mexico, and the other is for one route: Washington Dulles to Madrid-Barajas.  I'm hoping, and praying, for positive news regarding at least one of these positions.  I've had little to no customer service experience which most airlines require and I don't live in the proper city for one of them, but if all goes well, if my résumé is considered properly, I hope I will be able to get the chance to do something that I was practically born to do.

All images are screencaps from the 2011 BBC TV documentary Come Fly With Me: The Story of Pan Am.

Gora Euskadi! Vol. 1

1. “Ez Naiz Beldurtzen” — Zea Mays
2. “Muxu Batekin” — Lauroba
3. “Batzuek Ixo” — Joseba Irazoki
4. “Ilargia” — Ken Zazpi
5. “43º4’51-N 2º56’39-W” — Split 77
6. “Ihes Egin Ezazu” — Dank
7. “Lau Teilatu” — Itoiz
8. “Zuri Begira” — Siroka
9. “Maite Zaitut” — Takolo, Pirritx Eta Porrotx
10. “Marea Gora” — Koma
11. “Itxoiten” — Gaur Ez
12. “Rose” — Kerobia
13. “Haizerik Gabeko Eguna” —Malenkonia
14. “Segi, Segi, Segi” — Skalariak
15. “Galdu Gara” — Josu Bergara
16. “Goazen” — Hemendik At
17. “Amets” — Gari
18. “Lorak Eskeintzen” — Gatibu
19. “500 Urte Ta Gero” — Berri Txarrak
20. “Zenbat Bide?” — Etxe

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Avinguda Diagonal, 442

Avinguda Diagonal, 442 (© Google Earth)

La finca, a falta de mejores palabras, parecía un cruce entre un gigantesco reloj de carillón y un buque pirata, tocado de grandiosos ventanales y un tejado de mansardas verdes.  En cualquier otro lugar del mundo, aquella estructura barroca y bizantina hubiese sido proclamada una de las siete maravillas del mundo o un engendro diabólico obra de algún loco artista poseído por espíritus del más allá.  En el Ensanche de Barcelona, donde piezas similares brotaban por doquier como tréboles tras la lluvia, apenas conseguía levantar una ceja.

-- Carlos Ruiz Zafón, El juego del ángel

The house, for lack of better words, looked like a cross between an enormous grandfather clock and a pirate ship, touched with grandiose windows and a roof of green fields.  In any other place, that Baroque and Byzantine structure would have been declared one of the seven wonders of the world or the diabolical project of some crazy artist possessed by spirits from the other side.  In Barcelona's Eixample, where similar pieces rose up all around like clover after the rain, it barely raised eyebrows.

Ihes Betean / An Escape

I downloaded the new Ken Zazpi album (released late last year) a few days ago, and while I've liked the Basque band since I started listening to them in 2008 with their album Argiak, they far outdid themselves with this one.  I am in love with every single track on this album, particularly "Hel Nazazu Eskutik" ("Take Me By the Hand") and "Hemen Gaude" ("We're Here"), as well as this one, "Ihes Betean" ("An Escape").

This song actually caused me to have a bit of an emotional breakdown this morning, something that rarely happens (but it's the second time in the last couple months, so I am starting to worry), mostly snowballing from the lines "itzuli den etxera", which in Basque means "returning home".

"Returning home"

Those two words, repeated over and over again at the end of the song, started a chain reaction that got me to thinking about the people, or lack thereof, in my life.  The fact that my two best friends are on opposite sides of the globe with me in the middle, the fact that one of them is going through a tough situation with her family and the other who has a boyfriend in Madrid who she never gets to see (and who I've never met).  The fact that I haven't been in a situation to be able to just call up my best friend and say "Hey, want to hang out?" or to have a literal shoulder to cry on since the middle of 2000 (yes, that's 11 years).

It just makes me feel so helpless, so useless.  The internet's done a great job at bringing me closer to these people because I'm able to chat with them, but as anyone can tell you, it's just not the same as having someone down the street or across town you can call up and meet up with each other at a given spot at a given time.  I have to wait to visit my friends till I have money, or till they can come visit me, and it's been over a year since I've seen both of them.

And with this it got me thinking about my social life, and the fact that I haven't had a solid social life since possibly high school, and even that it was debateable because I didn't really have any close friends in high school either.  I just have to wonder if I really will be alone, on a physical level, forever.  Because it's been so long since I haven't felt utterly alone I don't know if I'll be able to handle not being alone.

And it's terrifying.

Visca Catalunya! Vol. 2

1. “Al Mar” — Manel
2. “Alguna Cosa”  — Gossos
3. “Les Meves Ex i Tu” — Els Amics de les Arts
4. “Tornarem” — Lax ‘n’ Busto
5. “Compta Amb Mi” — Dept.
6. “La Teva-Meva Vida” — Glaucs
7. “Per Veure’t a Tu” — Els Pets
8. “Boomerang” — Manel
9. “Oxigen” — Gossos
10. “V” — Els Amics de les Arts
11. “Poetes” — Dept.
12. “Una Cara Bonica” — Mishima
13. “No És Massa Tard” — Lax ‘n’ Busto
14. “El Moment Que No Surt Mai a les Cançons” — Mishima
15. “Barcelona” — Glaucs
16. “Me Sobren Paraules” — Antònia Font

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Three Languages or One?

An article was just brought to my attention today via Facebook.  In it, the writer (subtly) complains about a proposal by major Spanish conservative party PP (Partido Popular, or Popular Party) that schools in Catalunya will, under their direction should they be elected in the coming months, switch to a trilingual system in which Catalan, Spanish and English will be in the curriculum until the bachillerato, the optional two years after the mandatory eight years of schooling and before university in the Spanish public school system.

What gets me is that people are complaining about this.  Now, I understand that linguistic freedom is a huge issue in Catalunya right now.  Catalan as a language has been under fire by the Spanish government since 1716 (with a brief revival during the Renaixença period of the late 19th century and early 20th century) and even since the Caudillo's death in 1975 Catalan still does not have the respect it once had.  Whereas other multilingual countries such as Canada and Belgium allow people living in certain areas to speak whichever language they will and not speak others, Spain makes sure that Spanish is still the dominant language throughout the state.  Many Catalans believe their language is still being oppressed because of this.  I don't take issue with this.

Two Stories, One Person

I did a thing on Tumblr just now where people would give me a number corresponding to a question they'd like me to ask, and a few of them had to do with childhood memories.  It's funny, because for me, just thinking about my childhood beyond a certain age is a task.  Not because I had some terrible brain injury that made me lose memory past a certain point, but for (arguably) more bizarre reasons.

It's not the remembering that's hard.  I still remember a lot of things about my childhood: teachers I had, friends I made, toys I loved, TV shows I'd watch, places we'd visit...  It's not even that it's hard.  It's just...well...awkward.  That's what's so weird, how can remembering childhood be awkward?  I haven't quite figured this out.  But it's like there's a wall in my brain that was built at a certain point, and everything before then is different.  And it's funny because nearly half of my life is behind that wall, and I don't always like going through it.

That wall was built on October 26th and 27th, 1997.  That's the date my family left JFK International Airport in Queens, NY on an Air Europa flight to Madrid Barajas Airport.  That's the date my life tangibly changed permanently, to the point where everything that occurred before then would become a life that I would never know ever again.  Up until that date, I had never known any country other than the United States, had never known a language other than English, much less known anyone other than my grandfather who spoke a language other than English --and even then, he never spoke Norwegian around us--.  And as soon as we landed in Madrid and were whisked off to sit in the Madrid police station for four hours doing immigration papers and then sit in a dark van for another four hours listening to two men up front jabber on in a language we didn't understand.  We stopped for dinner somewhere on the highway between Madrid and Bilbao and fell asleep in mounds of rice because we were too jet-lagged and exhausted to eat, and were dropped off by the side of the road in Leioa to wait for someone else who didn't speak our language to bring us to our new home.

I don't know how many other people have such a tangibly intangible wall dividing their memories.  I'm sure there are others, most likely a lot of them had traumatic experiences to cause them to build that wall, maybe others with not so traumatic experiences.  I just know I can literally divide my life in two parts: pre-Spain and "post-Spain".  Pre-Spain for the twelve years I spent as a fairly clueless kid who liked reading atlases and encyclopedias, who enjoyed learning about the world but who had never traveled much farther than to the East Coast of the USA and the occasional shortcut through Canada.  "Post-Spain" for everything since then.  Since I first discovered Euskera my first week of school when we had to choose a language to study and I didn't want to take French.  But I wasn't allowed to take Euskera because I needed to speak Spanish first, and then when I first heard it spoken by real-life people by my 6th grade homeroom teacher to our tour guide on a class field trip to Urkiola, a nature reserve about an hour away.  Since I became fluent in Spanish within nine months of landing in Spain.  Since I started public school and soon afterwards met the girl who would become my best friend for the next eleven, twelve years.

It's just so weird to look back on my life before all that happened.  It's like I wasn't even me back then, I was someone else.  Some other kid.  None of the things that happened to me before then made me who I am today, except for maybe that innate curiosity that helped me discover the world and learn about it.  But none of the events, none of the deciding moments in my life before then actually changed me.  Moving to Spain changed me, so looking back on my childhood is like watching a movie.  A movie that I was a part of and had a role in, but little else.  It really is bizarre to think that at one point, I did live that life.  And I think that's what's so unreal about it.  That I can't imagine living that life now, but I know I did.  That's what's strange.

Río Nervión, Puente de San Antón, la Ribera, Bilbao

Euskolegas

I hardly ever talk about the TV shows I watch because a. I really don't think anyone cares, b. fandom has never been my thing, regardless of how hard I've tried, and c. I don't really care if people know what shows I watch or don't watch.

Except in some instances where I will talk about my shows, because I'm pretty sure that no one else in my circles watches them for no other reason that they've most likely never heard of them.  This is one of those instances.

The screencap on the top of this entry is from a TV show called Euskolegas, which aired for two season on ETB2 in the Basque Country in Spain from 2009 to 2010.  It started as a series of skits on Vaya Semanita, also on ETB2, and became a full-length sitcom in 2009.  It revolves around Álex, Pruden and Patxi, three friends who live in an apartment in Indautxu, a district in central Bilbao who come from different parts of the Basque Country --Pruden is from Vitoria, the capital, Álex is from Donosti (San Sebastián), and Patxi from Bilbao.  A girl named Leire moves in across the hall from a small town in Navarra, and shenanigans ensue.

One of the main reasons I love this show is because nearly 80% of the dialog consists of Basque cultural references.  Characters call each other "ama" and "aita" (Basque for "mom" and "dad"), they say good-bye with a quick "agur", nearly everyone has a Basque name or a Basque-ized version of their Spanish name ("Patxi" is the Basque version of "Paco", short for "Francisco", and another character is "Juan César", nicknamed "Xixario"), and there are references to places that no one outside the Basque Country has any clue exists.  San Sebastián is always called "Donosti" like it is up there...among many, many other things.

This show keeps me in touch with my "Basque" side, the culture I made my own for two-and-a-half years and that, eleven-and-a-half years after moving away, I still can't shake.  Every time I pull a marathon I'm reminded of how "Basque" I actually am.  I get all the cultural references, the slang, everything makes sense.  I find all the references funny.  I look at the scene-split shots of Bilbao and it reminds me of home.  There's one moment where one of the characters says to her father "Aita, si tú te pierdes en Barakaldo, ¿cómo piensas ir a París?"  (Dad, if you get lost in Barakaldo, how do you think you're going to go to Paris?) and I crack up because I've been to Barakaldo and I know how much people who are not from any particular city in the Basque Country complain about not knowing where anything is.  There are jokes and digs at Donosti (Bilbao and Donosti have an almost amusing rivalry.  I am forever team!Bilbo.), Vitoria, and Navarra.  Even the interior design of the houses is so totally Basque that it makes me want to do some of my own redecorating.

Just about everything about this show makes me nostalgic for the "innocent" time in my life when my family lived in the Basque Country.  It makes me feel like I'm back there again, it gives me the chance to relive everything I felt when I lived there, even though I was nearly 15 when we left and all the characters are over 25.  The culture is still the same, and it's like having a little piece of home with me.

If anyone's interested in watching it (in Spanish), it's up at ETB's webpage here.  I would also suggest Vaya Semanita to get a humorous perspective of Basque culture (only on ETB and on VS can they make fun of ETA and get away with it...barely) in the form of five-minute sketches all revolving around live in Euskal Herria.

Silly people...

I found this on my Tumblr dashboard earlier today:

When I Hear the Name "Barcelona"...

I think of every single player on that team
Heart Rate Speeds up.
Light Headed.
MESSI.
Red and Blue.
In Love.
Greatest thing on this planet.
Greatest thing that has ever happened to me.
THE GREATEST TEAM.
There’s no definition for the love i have for Barca.

Okay so.  Let me begin by saying no one is wrong here.  I feel like I should make that disclaimer because, well, I like to say people are wrong a lot (sorry in advance...and in retrograde).  But that's not what I want to talk about here.

Because I'm just going to say this, I am a culé.  I do support FC Barcelona as my football/soccer team of choice.  I do.  But here's the thing.  Barcelona is a city, not a football club.  Sure, it has a world-class football club and a world-class football stadium that is amazing and enormous and beautiful and everything else.  It also has another football club, which may not have the renown as their cross-town rivals Barça, they have a very loyal fanbase and a legitimate claim to the city (yes, I'm talking about Espanyol).

Here's the thing though.  When I hear "Barcelona", or when I see it written on bags and elsewhere in print, I think of the Passeig de Gràcia, the Torre de Collserola, the Passeig de Sant Joan.  I think of the metro station at the Estació de Sants.  I think of the Palau de la Música Catalana, the Liceu, Casa Batlló, the Sagrada Família.  I think of Sants (featured at the top of this post), I think of Poblenou, of the lower Dreta de l'Eixample.  I think of the time I got lost on the tram and ended up in Sant Adrià de Besòs and ended up not caring because I was lost in Barcelona.

This is the city I first fell in love with in 2004 when I saw the Sagrada Família for the first time in my life, when my family walked down the Passeig de Sant Joan till we got to the Arc de Triomf...and then walked back to the Sagrada Família where we'd parked our car.  It's the city I fell in love with again in 2008 when two friends and I spent five days there, and again in 2010 when I spent six days there by myself.

This city is magical, and not just because of the football club.  Yes, I'm a fan, but this city means so much more to me and the people who live here, who go through every single monotonous day in this city.  I feel like all this blog is a defense of Barcelona and how much I love it, but who cares.  This city has changed my entire life.  And yes, FC Barcelona is a great club.  But it pales in comparison to the greatness of the city that houses it.  Because that's what's really important here.  It's not the club, it's the city.  It's the great city of Barcelona.  Let's not forget that.

Plaça del Progrés, Terrassa, May 28, 2010

"Turkey, Greece, Italy, Catalunya..."

Today I found that list of countries with extensive cultural histories in a travel book I got in 2007 before I went to study abroad in Spain.  It's published by Rick Steves' company and yes, I was incredibly shocked to find it in a sidebar tailing a section on Ancient Greece.  I mean, how likely is it to find Catalunya mentioned (in that same spelling) 1. in a book on European history, 2. in a book on European history geared towards North Americans, and 3. in a book on European history that's more of an overview?

Not very likely.  Catalunya and its unique history, culture and language may get a comment in most major guidebooks (Lonely Planet is decent enough to include Catalan phrases in their Barcelona guidebooks, I have yet to see any others that do), but this statement referring to cultures that are visited by many people, made me weak at the knees...if I hadn't been sitting while reading it.  Because in that short statement, probably overlooked by most people, states what Catalans have been trying to tell the world for centuries: We are our own country.

I think it's a beautiful thing when information like this, however subtle, is given to the general public.  Very few guidebooks seem to completely overlook Catalunya's cultural and historical differences from the rest of Spain, using wording that makes it sound either like Catalans are utterly delusional ("They carry Spanish passports, of course they're Spanish!") or the European equivalent of hicks ("Without Spain they'd probably still be tending their sheep in the hills!").  I sometimes like to go to the travel section in major bookstores and see what different guidebooks have to say about Barcelona/Catalunya "for the lulz", and this is a common attitude I get.

I just have to say, thank you, Rick Steves and Gene Openshaw, for considering Catalunya a country.  You're some of the few.

Palau de la Música Catalana

Lluís Domènech i Montaner

This is probably my favorite building in all of Barcelona.  Worldwide, the city is known for Antoni Gaudí, the 19th century architect who's known for the Casa Batlló, Casa Milà, Parc Güell, and the Basílica de la Sagrada Família, among others.  I'm not going to deny Gaudí's genius, I'm not going to deny his talent or his ability to buck every single trend and design buildings that have captured imaginations for over a hundred years.

But (because there is always a "but") Barcelona is not just Gaudí.  He's the city's most famous person (despite being born in Reus, in Tarragona, not Barcelona) and he has certainly left his mark on the city who sponsored him, but there were two other great Catalan architecture masters who are often overlooked because Gaudí's work and fame tends to overpower their own.  Take for example Josep Puig i Cadafalch's, whose Casa Amatller sits adjacent to Gaudí's Casa Batlló, and I often wonder if people who crowd in front of the Casa del Drac, as it's sometimes referred to in Catalan, realize that the building next door is just as much an architectural monument.  No matter, it probably enjoys being an understated beauty.

Now, the Palau de la Música Catalana...this building is anything but understated.  Built to house the Orfeó Català, the Catalan Orphic Choir, between 1905 and 1908 in the Ribera district, it's a testament to the Modernist movement in Catalonia.  The main stage has incredible acoustics; in the tour I took last year we were played Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor and even though I've always loved that piece, hearing it in that hall nearly moved me to tears.

I would love to see a concert here, in this Palace for Catalan Music.

This Moment

All that I need is this moment
To send me away with a smile on my face
I tried to leave but I turn back
On my heart remains a trace

I don't usually like to talk about my favorite music.  Not because I don't listen to music --on the contrary, I'm always listening to music--, but because I just don't care if other people know what kind of music I listen to.  I refuse to judge people based on the music they listen to, so I usually try not to make a big deal out of what I like to put into my headphones.  Anytime I share music I enjoy on Tumblr I'm lucky to get two notes, but since I only have just under 140 followers it's not that big of a deal.  Besides, Flash takes up a lot of memory to run.  It's cool.

But I kind of want to talk about some music I like right now.  One of the genres that I've really grown to love in the last couple of years is trance.  Mostly trance prog, or progressive trance, because it's more mellow and low-key and much more melodic than what most people expect when they think of "trance" music.  I actually enjoy all kinds of trance, from relaxed progressive to frenetic, gritty industrial, but prog is definitely my favorite.  And this track, the one I posted above, is one of my all-time favorites.

One of the things I really love about trance music is that when lyrics are involved, they tend to be incredibly powerful.  Trance artists don't just throw lyrics at a song just to try to make it more interesting, there is almost always a lot of thought involved in the songwriting.  So many of my favorite trance songs are favorites of mine because of the lyrics almost as much as because of the music itself.  And what's beautiful about trance is that since most people just shrug is off as being "talentless" because it's electronically generated, it's still in a sense "under the radar".  And honestly, the biggest trance artists like Above & Beyond and Gareth Emery have an extensive background in music-making.  I heard an Above & Beyond acoustic session once and was blown away.  Two of the DJs were on the acoustic guitar, another on the keyboard, and then there was a vocalist, and the result sounded like jazz night at your local bar.  And Gareth Emery...he plays keyboard on his track "Too Dark Tonight", and when he performs it live, it's an acoustic performance, at least when his sister Roxanne, who does the vocals for the track, is onstage.  I sincerely believe that it is completely unfair to consider electronic music, at least as far as trance is concerned (but even electronic music as an entire genre), "talentless", because I have seen nothing but talent from many of these artists.

Anyway, trance music isn't the only music I listen to, and some other time I'll talk about some of my other favorite songs.  But right now I wanted to post this one, because it's been a favorite for a while now and I felt I should share.

Of Memories

I get very emotionally attached to the weirdest things.  It's weird; I have a shampoo and conditioner set that I rarely use (even though I'm almost out by now) for the simple reason that the first time I used it was when I was in Barcelona last year.  I have a face wash that I'm the exact same with, as well as a perfume.

There's even a music album that I absolutely adore that I haven't listened to in over a year for the simple reason that the last time I listened to it I was getting off the plane at the airport in El Prat, was waiting to go through security, and was on the train on my way into the city.  I refuse to listen to it again until I can find a moment that's adequate.  I doubt I'm going to find it, but I'm holding out.

The truth is, I don't hoard things.  I hoard memories.  Most of the crap that I have is actually meaningless to me, save for a few things that have sentimental value because of where I got them/who gave them to me.  I can fit most of my belongings, my valuable belongs anyway, the things I couldn't live without, into one suitcase.  This is perfect for my plan to actually move back to Europe one day.  Honestly, the most important things I have...I have in my head.  I do keep some of them locked in songs, albums or even scents (for example, the perfume Chance by Chanel...will never not remind me of Bilbao, simply because I wore it a lot while I was there last summer), but in general, they're in my head.

I am a bit of a pack rat, I admit it; I hate throwing things away.  But one of the things I have noticed about myself though is that eventually, I don't care if whatever object it is gets thrown away or lost.  Important things I keep with me at all times; I know exactly where they are and they're impossible to lose.  But in general, the things I'm terrified of losing the most are the memories I have in my head.  The memories I get when I'm about to hop in the shower and I think of the automatic faucet at the hostel in Barcelona that caused so many unknown roommates and floormates grief because they couldn't figure out how the damned things worked.  The times I wake up in the morning and have to rub my eyes again because I could have sworn I was still in my best friend's apartment in Algorta.  The time I pick up a tube of mascara and think "Oh, R gave that to me in New York City right before I left for Spain!"

It's the little things.  The meaningless, worthless things that mean most to me, the little things that trigger memories or thoughts of things I can't have right now, but with a little patience, I could most likely have again.

So you want to move to Spain? Read this first

If you'll now permit me (oh what the hell, it's my blog), I'm going to address an issue that seems to be very important for a vast group of people on the internet.  Those people who seem to be convinced that after college (or after high school...) they will be moving to Spain.  And those people who also have it planned to stay in Spain after they finish their study abroad term in the country; they just won't get on the flight back to the US.

I'm here to burst that bubble, poop that party, rain on that parade.  Because guess what.  You want to move to Spain/overstay your visa?  Good luck with that.  Really.  I'm just going to make something clear here: you have no idea what you're planning.

*Note* This post is geared mainly towards North Americans, since Europeans don't have to worry about anything I'm saying here.  And because everyone I've seen saying things like this is from North America, and not Europe.

The Day New York Stood Still

Ten years ago, I was sixteen years old, a sophomore in high school (grade 10), attending an international boarding school in the small city of Kandern, in Southwest Germany.

At 3:43 pm I was in history class, and I looked at the clock; we were being let out early.  Fifteen minutes later I was reaching the front steps of the residence dorms where I lived, and an eighth grade girl ran out to see if anyone was coming, saw me, and announced that the World Trade Center in New York City had been hit by a bomb.  I remember thinking about my own experiences living in the somewhat volatile Basque Country and thinking that "safe" America probably hadn't been hit too badly, but I went upstairs anyway, to the TV room where the dorm staff was watching CNN, the only English station we got on TV.

That was when I saw the Pentagon smoking, and I knew something was very, very wrong.  Five minutes later the feed switched to New York, where the footage of the second plane hitting the Towers was replayed over and over again, the South Tower already hit.  Twenty minutes later, the North Tower collapsed, and I just stood there.

Two weeks earlier, at a Carrefour in Málaga where my parents were living, I saw a mosaic poster featuring the Twin Towers, the pictures making up the mosaic being snapshots of New York City.  I hung it up in my room, above my bed, on move-in day and when I went into my room to drop my backpack off, I saw the poster I'd bought and broke down in tears.  I didn't stop crying the rest of the day.

Three weeks earlier, I flew out of JFK airport en route to Paris, and was convinced I'd be back soon to visit the Towers and the city again.  Instead, I got a trip to a Ground Zero where the rubble was already cleared out, but a mess still remained.

I may not have lost anyone in the attacks, I may not have been directly affected.  But we're all affected, in some way or another.  That 2001-02 school year was one of the most trying, most difficult times in my life and I'm still dealing with it.  I'm still dealing with the feelings of loneliness and insecurity that have plagued me since I was sixteen.

Here's to everyone who gave up something on that day ten years ago.  Here's to the first responders, to the firefighters, to the police officers, to the families who lost someone or who were lost themselves.  Here's to the city of New York.  The greatest city in the world.  Here's to the city that never sleeps, never rests, never gives up.  Here's to the city that I have adored since the day I was born.  Here's to the city that reminds us all, every single day, that there is hope, that there is joy, that there is peace.  Here's to every single little thing that reminds us to never give up, to never surrender.

"No Hay Una Única Identidad Válida."

This scene from the French film L'Auberge Espagnole (lit. "The Spanish Inn/Hostel/Refuge", but I believe it was released in English-speaking countries under the French title; in Spanish it was Una Casa de Locos, "A House of Crazies") always gets me emotional.  Here's the dialogue:

Catalan 1: Jo parlo català senzillament perquè sóc català i perquè visc a Catalunya.
I speak Catalan simply because I’m Catalan, and because I live in Catalonia.
Isabelle: A mí me parece contradictorio defender el catalán en un momento en el que estamos construyendo Europa.
I find it contradictory to defend Catalan at the same time we’re building Europe.
Catalan 2: Yo no estoy de acuerdo. Primero porque creo que, o sea que, estamos hablando de identidades, y no hay una única identidad válida. O sea, hay muchas identidades que son perfectamente compatibles. Se trata de respeto. Por ejemplo, yo tengo por lo menos dos identidades. La identidad gambiana, que traigo conmigo mismo, y la identidad catalana. Yo no creo que sea contradictorio combinar las dos identidades.
I disagree.  First because I think, in other words, that we’re talking about identities, and there isn’t just one valid identity.  In other words, there are a lot of identities that are perfectly compatible.  It’s about respect.  For example, I have at least two identities.  The Gambian identity, which I bring within myself, and the Catalan identity.  I don’t think it’s contradictory to combine the two.

The movie takes place in Barcelona, hence some of the dialogue being in Catalan.  It also follows a moment where Isabelle (in the screencap, she's the girl in the lavender shirt) stands up to her Economics prof who's giving the class in Catalan and insists he speak Spanish instead, which he declines to do (I'll dedicate another entry to that part some other time, since it goes with the whole language politics thing.).

The main reason why I love this whole sequence and bit of dialogue is because, well, I can identify myself in it.  I am, in a way, Catalan 2, who is the African guy shown in the screencap above.  Not necessarily Catalan, but it still works in any case.  I am American by virtue of the fact that I was born in the United States to American parents, and I am also Spanish, because of the time I spent living there in that culture (those cultures...).  And I think trying to be either one or the other keeps me from being who I am.

I just love this movie.  Everyone needs to see it.

Catalan Pronunciation Guide

I just put a Catalan pronunciation guide up under my pages!

Go ahead and check it out, and let me know if you have any questions.

2011 Book List

1. Hadrian by Anthony Everitt
2. The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien
3. The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien
4. London by Edward Rutherfurd
5. El Hereje by Miguel Delibes
6. La Plaça del Diamant by Mercè Rodoreda
7. I'm Off Then by Hape Kerkeling
8. El Pintor de Batallas by Arturo Pérez-Reverte
9. The Story of Beautiful Girl by Rachel Simon
10. The Queen's Fool by Philippa Gregory
11. Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay
12. Dewey by Vicki Myron
13. Catalina de Aragón by José Luis Olaizola
14. El Capitán Alatriste by Arturo Pérez-Reverte
15. La Tía Tula by Miguel de Unamuno
16. Manolito Gafotas by Elvira Lindo
17. ¡Pobre Manolito! by Elvira Lindo
18. Cómo Molo by Elvira Lindo
19. Los Trapos Sucios by Elvira Lindo
20. Manolito On the Road by Elvira Lindo
21. Yo y el Imbécil by Elvira Lindo
22. Manolito Tiene un Secreto by Elvira Lindo
23. Tinto de Verano by Elvira Lindo
24. Tinto de Verano II: De Madrid a Nueva York by Elvira Lindo
25. La Sombra del Viento by Carlos Ruiz Zafón
26. A Game of Thrones by George RR Martin
27. A Clash of Kings by George RR Martin
28. A Storm of Swords by George RR Martin
29. El Juego del Ángel by Carlos Ruiz Zafón
30. The Screwtape Letters by CS Lewis
31. Hippy Chick by Louise Harwood

"Why don't they just speak English?"

A language does not become a global language beause of its intrinsic structural properties, or because of the size of its vocabulary, or because it has been the vehicle of a great literature in the past, or because it was once associated with a great culture or religion....  A language has traditionally become an international language for one chief reason: the power of its people --especially their political and military power....  The history of a global language can be traced through the successful expeditions of its soldier/sailor speakers.

David Crystal, as quoted by David I. Smith in Learning from the Stranger


I remember posting about this on Tumblr once.  I'd seen a thread about English and why it was considered a "global language" if more people spoke Chinese than English and it was a very complicated language.  No one seemed to know the answer, so I put in my two cents, which read very similar to this quote.

People are not learning English because it is easy or because a lot of people speak it.  People are learning English because of the dominance that English-speaking countries have had in the world for the past three to four hundred years.  Starting with England and its colonial prowess (having beaten Spain and arguably the Dutch at their forays) and continuing with the United States in its technological dominance.

Visca Catalunya! Vol. 1

Another mix imported from my Tumblr!  This one is a compilation of some of my favorite Catalan songs, all by different artists.  I'm calling it "Vol. 1" because I'm planning on doing another mix with more of my favorites, this time with less variety in the artists (though I actually listen to a ton of Catalan music, so it's not like there will only be three artists in there heh).

I should also clarify that not *all* these artists are Catalan/from Catalunya, but most are.  And all the songs are in Catalan either way.

Enjoy!

Oda al Pep

Let's just take a moment to appreciate this man right here on the left.  Josep (Pep) Guardiola i Sala.  Born in Santpedor, Barcelona in 1971.  Joined FC Barcelona as a "tween", and who has spent just about his entire life dedicated to this club.

On Saturday, he managed to become the youngest coach in football history to win two Champions League titles, but that's just the tip of the iceberg.  In 1992, he was a part of the Barcelona side that beat Italian team Sampdoria at the same arena, Wembley in London.  This was his third Champions League trophy in his life.

When Nostalgia Strikes

(c) Majestic Hotel BCN

A year ago today I landed in El Prat airport near Barcelona.  Kind of hard to believe it was already a year ago.  The last couple months, basically since I got back in mid-June, I've been able to say things like "I've been back a week," "I've been back a month," "I've been back five months."  Now, it's "I left a year ago."

Truth is though, even though I'm always nostalgic, and will probably always be nostalgic every single time I come back from a visit to Spain, I haven't been looking back very often and have been looking ahead more.  To the next time I go, whenever that is.  I still don't have a job, I still have bills to pay, but the closer I get to finding a job, the closer I get to being able to go back to Spain.

It's funny how my life has become a countdown of the time it takes to get back to Spain...and the time it's been since I was last there.  The first time I did the countdown was probably early 2007 once I'd submitted my application for the study abroad program with my university for Spring 2008.  Once the last semester before going abroad came, I started counting down the months, then weeks...and then I started counting down till I got my passport, and then...  When I bought my ticket for this last trip, back in September of 2009, it started pretty quickly.  I had two full semesters to get through, two sets of finals, graduation, a week of finals, and then five days in New York before I finally left.

I think the worst part is finally arriving though, because it's like the beginning of the end.  Each day that passes is another day less that I have to spend.  It's like Christmas.  You spend all year waiting for it, and once it arrives, you realize that it's almost over.  Not like it doesn't make the stay any less enjoyable, but you still know that you have to leave soon.  It's obviously less of a problem when you're there for a semester or a year, but once that last month arrives...

I don't know why I'm feeling optimistic right now, it's so unlike me, but in this case, I need it.  I need to be optimistic.  And I hope something good comes out of it, and that by the time 2011 is over I'll already have another trip across the pond all planned out.

Defending Catalan (Among Others)

I was reading a document I’d found that was published by the Institut d’Estudis Catalans (IEC) on philological information on the language (spelling, grammar, pronunciation, etc.), and at the end I saw a section called “Defending Catalan in the European Union”.  This section was particularly fascinating because it presented, in list form, various reasons why those at the IEC wished Catalan to become an official language within the European Union.  At the moment, it is recognized (it has some status, but is not considered official by any means), but as it is not the primary language in any one member state, it is not given the status that many within Catalunya feel it deserves.

Here are some of the most notable reasons I found:

It’s a Great Time to be a Culé

*Note*  If you support Real Madrid, you may not want to read this.  Just saying.  Figured I should warn you in advance.

So just in case you’re not at all up to keeping up to date in the football (Association Football that is, aka “soccer”), these last three weeks have had as a protagonist the “classic” match-ups between Real Madrid and Barcelona, the biggest clubs in Spain, and probably one of the biggest sports rivalry on the planet.  Considering how big football is on every continent (with a slight exception of the countries of the USA and Canada), I wouldn’t be surprised if it were the biggest.  But moving on, these last three weeks, ending yesterday, featured not one but four of these match-ups.  One of the league match, held at the Santiago Bernabéu in Madrid, the second for the Copa del Rey final at the Mestalla in Valencia, and the final two for the Champions League semifinals in the respective stadiums of the two sides: first in Madrid at the Bernabéu, second in Barcelona at the Camp Nou.

 

A “Spanish” “National” Team?

I find it hilarious when people (clueless and naïve people mostly) claim to be offended whenever someone, anyone, makes a suggestion that “Catalonia is not Spain”.  Whether it’s someone simply speaking Catalan, like Andrés Iniesta is doing now on Facebook (the Spaniards who are upset about this make me laugh more than anything else; he can use as much English as he wants, but  he use Catalan which is a similar language to Spanish and therefore not that hard to decipher if you’re reading it on the internet), with the case I mentioned back in my “Visca Catalunya Lliure!” post in February with the coach who walked answer a question in a press conference because he refused to answer a question he was asked in Catalan in Spanish, or, more recently, with the comments that Gerard Piqué, a player for FC Barcelona, allegedly made after the clàssic two Saturdays ago at the Santiago Bernabéu in Madrid claiming that on Wednesday (last Wednesday) Barcelona was going to win “your King’s cup!”

I’ll concede that, if the statements were true (Piqué denied them over Twitter, and it was Madrid paper Marca which printed them, and they’re not known for being discerning when it comes to the content of their paper, but Piqué could have easily just made the post to save his own arse), they were certainly not made tactfully.  But at the same time, why are people offended?  Is it because of how he said it…or is it because of what he said (allegedly)?  Are people offended at the fact that he addressed the crowd at the Bernabéu telling them that Barcelona was going to win a title which they didn’t even believe in (Barcelona, as Catalunya as a whole, was on the side of the República during the Spanish Civil War and thus did not believe in instating any kind of monarchy), or is it because he was being an ass about it?  Maybe it was both?

My apologies for not being around here much anymore.  I guess I'm using Tumblr more again for what I'm "supposed" to be using this blog for.  And after finding out that a certain group of people (or at least one in particular) is still obsessed with me and stalking me on the internet after two years of me being oh so over the drama, I might as well bring back the lovely Blogspot.

Nah, I really do miss it over here.  Truth is, I've had a couple ideas for some posts.  Even one that I typed up but didn't end up posting because, well, it wasn't supposed to be read.  And now it never will be.  Mwahahahahaha.

Ahem.  At this point I'm just trying to get through two more clásicos since the previous two weren't exactly favorable to my team (well, the second one more so, the first wasn't too bad).  I'm just hoping that the tide turns this time and we can finally get a good result against one of the football clubs I hate the most on this planet.  They're still not number one on my hit list, but they're climbing up in the rankings, that's for sure.

Anyway, I'll try to have something with an actual point to it to post next time.

Lost in BCN

Okay, the title isn't metaphorical this time.  And the "BCN" part is real too, even though perhaps a tad overdone in my case because I feel like I talk about Barcelona a lot.  Oh well.  Deal with it.

Here's my story about the time I got legitimately lost in Barcelona.  On my 5th day in the city I had it planned that I was going to spend the entire day out and about, on my feet, just exploring the city.  I'd already been to the tourist traps: Parc Güell, the Sagrada Família, the Passeig de Gràcia and the Rambles, as well as Camp Nou, and just wanted to do some wandering.  The day earlier, after meeting up with some lovely people I'd met on social networks like LiveJournal and Twitter, I bought myself a new pair of flats, and (biggest mistake of my life), I decided to wear them on my "day on the town".  Yeah, probably shouldn't have done that.  My feet were throbbing by three pm.  I wandered into the Barceloneta for lunch, and ended up eating at a make-your-own Chinese/Asian place on the beach when I checked my phone for Facebook messages, and saw that a family friend who lived in Barcelona had invited me to the church service at their house in the evening.  The Barceloneta is not at all accessible via subway, so I ended up walking down the Passeig de l'Arenal till I got to the Vila Olímpica, where there's a tram line that goes into the area of the Eixample where they live, just out of Poblenou (if you're not familiar with Barcelona geography this is really not that important).

Artsy Fartsy?

I like art.  For years people thought I was going to be an artist because I happen to be really good with pencil and paper.  I've been drawing since I was two, and some of my drawings have been featured on programs for Christmas programs and such through my school.  It got to the point where that's what I wanted to do, where I wanted to be, before I had even an inkling of how the art world actually worked.  I grew up in a fairly artistic/creative family: my mom is an incredible artist, much better than I could ever hope to be at this point, and my paternal grandfather does beautiful oil paintings and ink drawings.  Even my dad, the engineer, can put pen to paper and come up with something that looks good, even if what comes out does look more architectural.  All of my three siblings and I have some kind of art talent, even my youngest brother who was never "artsy" like the rest of us but who is now going to school for pre-architecture.  I guess you could say that even though my family certainly doesn't fit the bill for an "artist family" or a "family of artists", we all grew up with a vast appreciation for the arts.

Bilbao

Photo © Aitor Agirregabiria

It feels so weird after the fact, knowing that I spend 2 1/2 years living a 40-minute subway ride from this area (plus a 20-minute walk if I'm going to the Guggenheim), the Guggenheim being such a mecca for modern art and even just an architectural icon in and of itself.

It feels so weird to me.  To me, it was always just "home", it was where I lived, where I'd occasionally go on weekends, occasionally going a couple months without ever going into Bilbao and spending all of our time in the suburbs.  It was a special occasion when we had to run some errands in Bilbao and made the 30-minute drive in.  But not because it was Bilbao, but because it was the city.

And now, with how big it's gotten, how modernized it's become (it didn't lookhalf as nice when we were living there 11 years ago; all that was notable was the Guggenheim and Calatrava's Zubi Zuri, and maybe the Teatro Arriaga), and the amount of languages other than Spanish that can now be heard, including Basque, it's weird.  I almost felt like a foreigner going back last summer.

It is funny though, I saw my first Andy Warhol (the Marilyn Monroe piece, as well as some of the Campbell's Soup ones) pieces when we visited in November 1997, a month after the museum opened and probably a few weeks after we moved in.  I think that was my first taste of "real" art.

Growing Up Expat

I don't usually follow adult expat blogs (blogs about people living overseas as adults) on principle, but I found a post today from one of them that just really "spoke" to me.  I actually reblogged it on Tumblr, and added my own two cents (which technically became more like a dollar, because if you know me, you know I like to ramble), since my experiences living overseas were different from the person who wrote the original post, but yet the attitudes are the same.

The thing is, so many people think that living abroad is like a massive extended vacation.  That you're "living the life" because you're not living in "boring ol' Amerr'ca" (or wherever).  To be perfectly honest though, that's not what it's like at all.  You still have to go work, or school, or whatever.  You still have things to do that you may not want to do.  Just because you're living in another country doesn't mean you stop being frustrated at people and things that you don't like.  Things don't become more tolerable abroad than they are at home.

I love H&M

I got paid for my 2-week job the other day, and because I'd seen this pair of boots at H&M that I knew I needed to have in my collection, I went out yesterday and picked them up.  They actually had them in my size, which is a feat in and of itself because nothing besides tops (which are more one-size-fits-all than pants and shoes) I can manage to find in my size at any given moment, much less when I actually plan on getting them.

So when I did find them and see a pair in my size, I grabbed them.  I always feel weird spending lots of money on things (call me thrifty if you want, I won't correct you) and always end up with a little bit of buyer's remorse after just about any and every purchase I make.  But these...I put them on and checked them out with my skinny jeans, and I have to say, I am in love.  For wanting them so badly from the first time I saw them to actually putting them on and seeing what they look like on me, I really am in love.  I can wear them with skinny jeans, which is what I'll be wearing with them the most until I can do some more clothing shopping and can find skirts, tops and dresses that will also work with them, and some lacy tights I picked up to go with them expressly (though they might work with my flats as well if I can find some other clothes to go with them).  This season I vow to revamp my wardrobe and buy clothes that are more "fashionable" and nice, since at the moment I basically live in bootcut jeans and sneakers.  I'm actually excited, though a bit daunted, since I honestly don't know what looks good on me and since I am probably the worst shopper ever since I won't buy anything unless I know that I will wear it and will like it on me.  But we'll see.  Maybe I can enlist the help of my brother's new girlfriend, who will probably be much more suited to helping me pick out clothes than anyone else I know at the moment.

Give Me Barcelona

I know I've already posted about how much I love Barcelona.  I don't even care if I sound like a broken record at this point.  I adore this city.  It's something I'll probably say a lot here, just because I can.  Because I can, because there are very few people who would even dare to argue with me on this, because there's really no point to arguing.

Paris bored me.  Rome annoyed me.  But Barcelona...Barcelona I got lost in.  Literally and figuratively.  Barcelona is, so far, the only city I have had plans be ruined in and still hasn't ruined my experiences.  In between running down the Passeig de Gràcia to find a bathroom and finally ending up at the Rodalies station in Plaça Catalunya where none of the stalls had toilet paper and shrugging it off later on to spend some time at the beach with my friends the first five days I spent there in 2008 to the time I got on the wrong tram and ended up in Sant Adrià del Besòs where I sat waiting for another tram for twenty minutes in front of the Centre Tèrmic (that building with the three smokestacks) the day after buying new shoes and deciding to wear them out as I did some exploring.  Not only did I also get on the wrong tram, on the way back into the city when I'd finally gotten to where I thought I needed to be, I got lost in Poblenou because I'd gone south instead of north.

And then I got creeped on in the Parc de la Ciutadella at the end of a very long day by a guy who decided he was going to speak to me in Catalan when I admitted to speaking the language...and not leaving me alone when I insisted I could find my way back on my own (I guess I should really create a story for myself in case this happens again).  When my feet killed me the next day, I braved the pain and headed off to Terrassa for the second time.

I'm convinced nothing can go wrong for me there that can ruin my experience.

Go ahead, try it.

I could probably get robbed at the Urquinaona metro stop or in the Raval and I will still come out and say "Well, at least I got robbed in Barcelona!" and then when I finally get replacement crap, I'll always remember that I got that replacement crap because I got robbed in Barcelona, and will be okay with it.

That doesn't mean I'm actually going to try to get myself robbed there, though.  I've only been to Urquinaona twice and I was on the metro car the entire time; never entered the station.  Never been to the Raval either.  I also tend to avoid the touristy areas like the plague, unless it's the Passeig de Gràcia and Plaça Catalunya.  Like when I ran into the Plan Internacional guys in front of the Fnac Triangle who seemed shocked when they found out I spoke Spanish.

Good times.

Terrassa Mix

Another mix, this one revolves around the Catalan city of Terrassa.  Just north of Barcelona, it's 45 minutes by FGC, accessible from downtown BCN, and definitely worth a visit.  At least I think so, though I'm primarily fascinated with it for language and cultural reasons, since there isn't much intrinsically touristic about it.  I'll probably talk about it more in another post.

The songs on this mix are pretty low-key and relaxed, having more of an acoustic or laid-back feel to them. They're definitely not the upbeat frenetic tracks features in the previous mix I posted.  R.E.M. dominates the mix, though most of the music is Spanish indie, with Catalan indie band Love of Lesbian dominating.  These songs just "feel" Terrassa to me, as they feature a music style that really feels inherent to the city.  I also use this mix as a rainy day playlist because the music has an almost melancholic sound without being outright depressing.

Plaza de España, Sevilla, December 30, 2007

Biutiful

I started watching Biutiful last night, more out of curiosity than anything else.  After the trainwreck that was (for me) Vicky Cristina Barcelona, I've been a little hesitant about any film shot in Barcelona in which the city features prominently.  No movie about the city has yet to beat L'Auberge Espagnole as far as I'm concerned, so before I continue, let me just say that if you haven't seen it yet, go out and watch it now.  It is one of my top-five favorite movies.

Anyway, I don't know if I'll actually finish watching it because the video quality is so shoddy that I can barely understand what's going on (it's from a camera, which, I know I know, but, it's all that's offered since the film isn't out on DVD yet) and I'm totally lost.  And it's supposed to be a visually striking movie as well, and, yeah, not seeing it.  I'll probably just end up waiting for the DVD to come out, then I'll be able to watch it and enjoy it like I should.

"Visca Catalunya Lliure!"

On the way to Ikea yesterday afternoon with my parents, I was listening to an episode of La Competència, my favorite radio program ever which airs on RAC1 in Catalunya (it is in Catalan), which I get through podcasts.  It was from last Tuesday,  and featured a discussion on an article written by Catalan journalist Quim Monzó for La Vanguardia, a Barcelona-based newspaper which publishes in Spanish (it's going to start publishing in Catalan in May).  It's an article about the coach for the Girona football team, Raül Agné, who walked out on a post-match press conference he was giving because he was told to answer a question in Spanish instead of Catalan, when the question had been asked in Catalan (something done all the time by journalists and coaches in press conference; if the coach speaks the language a question is asked in, he responds in that language).

Truths

So there are some things you should probably know about me that I may not have told you.  Or anyone, for that matter.

Bryant Park (6th & 42nd), NYC, 30 December 2010

One of my favorite NYC pictures from last year.  ^^