Last Week´s Quote:

I wanna hang a map of the world in my house. Then I'm gonna put pins into all the locations that I've traveled to. But first, I'm gonna have to travel to the top two corners of the map so it won't fall down. -Mitch Hedberg

Photos: Another Saturday Sunrise with Yoga and the Beach

Beach Bum, and reflections on my experience

If asked to define the past few days, I would have to call it a beach marathon. Yes, I am now an expert lazer, sunbather, ocean-swimmer, beach-ball-thrower, and all around beach bum. And proud of it! Of course, I didn’t do it alone! I was aided by the masterful skill of a great collection of friends. And to be perfectly frank, these hang-out, good-bye dates decided my fate as a sand-dweller. Wednesday with Alex was delicious –the trip to the Chocolatería afterward contributes to this descriptor! Alex is another exchange student like myself who made a trip over here to enjoy the beach with me and talk of our experiences. I think we were out there for a good five hours! You should have seen her eternal grin in those shallows; now there’s a true beach-lover. Thursday found Alberto and I at the beach, accompanied after a time by his younger siblings who served as excellent entertainment with their constant struggle over the floaty play-thing. That was the day when we made the trip out to the line of buoys that mark the furthest out you are allowed to go. Today, Friday, I said goodbye to Xaro, Teresa, and Jorge at the beach. Xaro and Teresa are my best girlfriends here. I will miss them. Good thing I have you guys to return to! Jorge brought a boogey-board and Xaro her beach ball. :-) Good times! Especially trying to get three of use standing on top of the boogey-board all at the same time amongst the waves. *sigh* I may never see any of them again. But Teresa assures me that one of these summers she’s going to pop up at my door in Cali and I just won’t we able to get rid of her until school starts. I told her I wouldn’t mind that.
Aside from floating on the aquamarine undulations and burrowing my playful toes in the sand, I have done little this week. I bought the next set of text booklets from my Spanish class so that I can continue to study them when I get back. I’ve set aside my Spanish reading for the time –I figure four books during four months is good enough on the Spanish front- and have delved back into a Hemmingway book about the Spanish civil war. (I appreciate having studied this topic in my history class.) I baked cookies with my younger host sister, Saioa, but they came out suspiciously liquidy, even after adding extra flour and sugar. Hmmm…I blame the new type of butter we used. It jeered at me when I put the milk back in the fridge. *glares at the memory of said guilty butter* But they still tasted good; grandpa said so.
Any time now I will start packing, because dad comes on Sunday. On Saturday I will madrugar –get up early- to go to yoga again before heading off to the mountain for climbing. In the evening we will celebrate Grandma’s birthday over dinner and then dad will be here by lunch the next day and a gift exchange. For the next few days after that, we will take up temporary residence in Ignacio’s house, see the city, and climb. Then we head up to Tarragona for a few days, fly up to Switzerland, and then it’s over to England for five days of show filled, sightseeing glory. We’ll be back for the 4th of July fireworks. So, this is one of my last posts before my Europe traveling adventures.

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I was just watching my host sister bustle around to gather her things to head out with her friends tonight and maybe it was due in part to the slower Queen song playing on my ipod, but I felt a swelling of sadness inside me; a bitter-sweetness. I’m going to miss her. When she found me crying one night in our room, she listened to what I had to say, told me about similar experiences of her own, and made me laugh. And other days when I just needed a good healthy cry and some time alone, she didn’t make a deal of it or invade my space. She is always making jokes and goofing around. She makes for excellent conversation and helped me learn my Spanish vocab list. We’ve shared a couple side-splitting late-night conversations and the meticulous cleaning of a couple cookie-dough bowls –with our fingers, of course! She is, truly, like a sister to me. La quiero.

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So, what parts of Spanish culture are going to influence my life in the US? Well, I am now going to take shorter showers in order to waste less water and be more frugal with my use of electricity in the house. I’ll probably keep eating yogurt and fruit for dessert, but I will miss the chocolate shops here. I hope to keep taking yoga classes and centering myself every week. I have more awareness of my personal needs now and the ways to treat myself well. I have greater perspective and know how to keep a healthy mindset. I have learned to relax better, which I hope I can still remember next year around midterms! I have, of course, come a long way in speaking, reading, and writing Spanish. I want to keep it up and practice it when I can. These past months have made me more tolerant of cigarette smoke –for better or worse- and made me not to quick to judge someone who parties, smokes, or drinks. I am more confident of my will and my values, but my spiritual beliefs are more hazy than ever. But I think that’s something that comes with my age also. I am tanner than before and my hair is a brighter red. I have a greater appreciation of my friends and family and know much more about Velazquez and Garcia Lorca than ever. I am buoyed by my new-found ability to pass almost all my classes in Spanish with the equivalent of a B. I have realized how important it is to have certain Jack Johnson CDs on my ipod, because I somehow managed to miss putting them on here before I left and have been missing them and craving them for the past four months. I have fallen in love once again with simple sunrises, clear oceans, rugged mountains, blue sky, dappled shade, and the twitter of birds. I have confirmed the impossibility of categorizing me or boxing me into one definition. I have realized how easy it is to spend money quickly, even when you contain yourself to necessities, gifts, and the occasional tea or dinner. The miracle of digital cameras and internet has set in and the importance of the Spanish dictionary is clear to me. Language is inexact and meaning is relative. Misunderstandings are easily made and love is the most important gift. Communication is imperative to the attainment of peace and generosity of time and efforts is something that each of us owe the world for the gift of comfort it has given us in our nice houses and cushy beds. We are citizens of humanity and being American or Spanish means nothing. I wish everyone would stop judging their neighbors by appearances or mannerisms.

Well, that´s about it for now.

Much love!

Besos,

Jocelyn

PS Alberto, you had better leave a comment this time or I will disown you as one of my best Spanish friends. So there! (Me disfruté de hablar contigo este tarde en la playa. Adios.)

Photos: Beach and Chocolate

From top to bottom:

1: Alex and I at the chocolate shop.
2: Our chocolate and churros. (Mmmmm!)
3: Alberto and me.
4: Alberto and his brother Guiermo (his name translates as William).
5: Guiermo´s mad skills.

Teaching How To Make Cookies and Homelife

Today I taught my host sister Janire how to make oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. Although she has little experience in good, thorough stirring and beating -and aside from her need for practice in the art of scraping cookies off the sheet with a spatula- they came out great! We had fun whipping out the hammer again and breaking the chocolate bar to pieces (I mentioned that she might take to baking this sort of cookie when she is in need of a little stress release!). And thus, after a day of baking, my mind is on food.

My host mom prepares two meals a day for us: lunch and dinner. Lunchtime is an hour that I hold in high regard, and rightly so. The usual heavy, lunch dishes are lentils or garbanzo beans, each served in soup/stew form with mild, green peppers, carrots –always extra for me-, and meat (steak is frequent and chorizo –a sort of chunk of pepperoni- is a must). Other usuals are the Spanish omelet, Spanish rice (garlic flavored rice served with tomato sauce and a fried egg), fish of every sort, puree of vegetables, and fillet of steak or pork. Many of these are also served for dinner, but practically never the garbanzo beans or lentils since they are considered too strong for right before bed. As a first dish, a salad of lettuce, tuna, tomato, olives, pickled leeks, canned corn, oil, vinegar, and salt is common and french-fries are served with almost every meal. We’ve also dinned on hamburgers that are more like a hamburger and BLT all in one from time to time and French omelets (which are like our regular omelets). Frozen pizza and breaded and fried rolls of ham and cheese are also part of our diet. My favorite dishes are the garbanzo beans, Spanish omelet, Spanish rice, puree of vegetables, and salads. Desert is always yogurt or fruit (apple, melon, pear, banana, cherries, strawberries…) with an occasional ice-cream thrown in.

Aside from cooking for us, my host mom also does the laundry (put the clothes in the washing machine, hang them on the clothes line, take them down, iron, fold, and distribute to the appropriate rooms) and cleans the house (sweeping, mopping, scrubbing, wiping down…). She would like to work (perhaps as a hostess at a hotel or in retail) but since they are relatively new to the area, she has not found an opportunity. So, she spends her time on the computer communicating with her friends back home in the North of Spain in Bilbao. My host dad works in the Civil Guard, which means he does hard work and suffers a lot of tragedies. In his off time, he goes running, bicycling, plays Paddle, fixes little electronic things, helps his daughters with homework, and does odd jobs around the house. He helps my host mom with dishes and does the weekly shopping trip with her. He is also the only one with a working driver’s license, so he takes people places if they aren’t using the usual methods of transportation –walking, bus, or tram. Since we only go shopping once a week but eat bread with every meal, we keep loaves of bread in the freezer to make them keep through the week and place them out over the clothes line or in front of the portable heater to thaw a few hours before we expect to eat them. We also use scissors to cut our spaghetti to pieces, but I am assured that this is not normal. Janire, my 15-year-old host sister, is not old enough to go clubbing like all of my friends. She prefers shopping, hanging out around the city, and going to the beach to tan, bathe, play volleyball, or chat with friends –but above all to tan. She’ll also go to an occasional movie, but usually opts for TV shows or the movies that are shown on a variety of channels. We watch Los Simpsons over lunch most every day, unless there is a soccer game, which is first priority, or car races, which are second. Over dinner, we watch Cámara Café (Coffee Camera) which is an imitation of a French show where they use one fixed camera set up where the coffee machine would be in an office and every show is made up of witty scenarios that could or could not take place in a similar situation. It is very funny, but I didn’t start getting the jokes until after a few months. We also watch the news during many meals. As you might guess, this is not conducive to lengthy discussions, but we do chat.

Well, ttfn! Ta-ta for now!

Love,

Jocelyn

Surreal Spanish Soccer

Spontaneously, as I sit calmly typing away at the computer, I hear loud yells, whoops, and shouts from the living room: "¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡GOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLLLLL!!!!!!!! ¡NO LO PUEDO CREER, NO LO PUEDO CREER!!!!!!!! ¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡YAHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! DIOS, ¡JODÉ! SI, SI, ¡BIEN!" And then clapping. A second later, I incredulously listen to similar whoops coming in through the opon window with the cool night air. Good god! The whole apartment building, all of them up and down the streets, are all practically in an uproar of excitement! Now, my host dad suddenly breaking into loud celebration over a goal in a national soccer game is not unusual (nor is loud swearing in the middle of dinner, which always causes my host sister to start, when a penalty is given to the other team or a goal made by the enemy). But hearing the echo of cheers from distant apartment buildings even a mile away is something I have never experienced before! I stood laughing, but not disbelieving because, after all, these are the Spanish and they do love their soccer! Well, apparently this is the game before the championships, so good luck to whatever team everybody is rooting for! lol!

Random Quote That I Loved

"If I had my life to live over I'd like to make more mistakes next time. I'd relax. I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I would take fewer things seriously. I would take more chances. I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers. I would eat more ice cream and less beans. I would perhaps have more actual trouble, but I'd have fewer imaginary ones. You see, I'm one of those people who live sensibly and sanely hour after hour, day after day. Oh, I've had my moments, and if I had to do it over again, I'd have more of them. In fact, I'd try to have nothing else. Just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day. I've been one of those persons who never goes anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a raincoat, and a parachute. If I had to do it again, I would travel lighter than I have. If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would go to more dances. I would ride more merry-go-rounds, I would pick more daisies."

-Nadine Stair

Last Week´s Quote:

"Don´t dream it; be it." -Frankenfurter

Yoga at Sunrise

This fine Saturday morning, in the darkness of the 5:30 pre-dawn shadows, I rolled out of bed and got onto the first tram. I rode it into town, walked my way down to the beach, and joined my friends from yoga class in the mountain pose observing the sunrise. These pictures are what follows. One relaxing highlight was a trust walk through the warm waves and feeling my feet melt into the sand as they lapped at my ankles. Afterwards, we all went to a chocolate shop and chatted over churros and liquid chocolate.

Good Old American Cookies (and the disabled)

Gooey oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the oven and steaming; Mmmmm! I had to admit: I had done pretty well this time, managing to remove the precious goodies from the oven before they burnt to a crisp or some other malady, and my unique American oddity was a smashing hit! Everyone loved the cookies and the cookie dough, so the extra work of whipping out the hammer to break the chocolate bar into chocolate bits –since they don’t have chocolate chips here- and converting all the cups and tablespoons into fractions of liters melted away like the cookies in the mouths of my host sisters. Now, Janire and my host mom want to learn how to make them, so we’ll probably have a tutorial session some time this next week. The neighbors lent me some vanilla and baking soda, but I still had to walk to the store to get the brown sugar, chocolate, and oatmeal. At any rate, I’m going to give the recipe to my family before I go –translated, of course- so that they can appreciate real American cookies whenever they please! And, yes, cookies are very uncommon here. You can occasionally find one in a bakery, but nobody makes them at home. Light cakes are common, and brownies are occasional, but cookies are rare. The people eat an excess of flat, store-bought sorts of cookies that really have more resemblance to a sweet cracker than a cookies. They consume these every morning for breakfast and most evening for merienda, or snack, along with hot chocolate or coffee, but our good old cookies are hard-found. I’m just glad that I could contribute something new and interesting to their lives –and yummy!- before I go. Some other foods that are a little more uncommon here are pancakes and peanut butter.

On an entirely different note, my mom had mentioned her curiosity over how the Spanish incorporate the disabled into their society. Well, they do much the same as us: they provide ramps in most areas, including down to the beach, and many intersections beep or chirp to notify the blind of when they can cross. And you do occasionally see a blind or wheelchair bound person making their way around the city alone. In schools, disabled students have a different schedule than other kids, but they are integrated into the normal classes for at least part of every day. At Saioa’s elementary school, there are disabled kids around and in the usual classes. However, there are not students with down-syndrome. In other schools, children with mild cases of down-syndrome are incorporated into parts of the usual daily schedule, but children with more severe disabilities go to different schools especially for disabled students. I don’t know what they consider a “severe disability,” but it is clear that a fair percentage of disabled children do get to participate in the regular classes. It does not appear that any disabled student actually studies in the same class with the other kids all day, like they sometimes do in the states with only the help of an aid.

All right, a few random nuances:

-Climbing shoes are called pies de gato here, which literally translates as “cat´s feet.”

-The Sound of Music can also be found in movie form here, but it, like many other movies, goes by a different title. Here, it is called Sonrisas y Lagrimas, which translates to “Smiles and Tears.” They find our version of the title very odd and consider theirs much more beautiful.

See you all soon!

Love,

Jocelyn

PS Those lovely ladies in the photo above happen to be myself and my host sisters: Janire (15) and Saioa (8).

Photos: GRADUATION!!!

From top to bottom:

1: Teresa on my right and Paloma on my left. School friends at the graduation ceremony. Teresa and I went out to a tea house last week and Paloma is in my class.

2: The boys.

3: All together now! From left, a kid in my class whose name I cannot remember at the moment, Gaston, my English teacher Clara, my drawing teacher Maria Jose, me, Juan An. Below me is Paz and to her right is Isa. At the bottom we have Andy, who does not actually go to our school, and Paloma.

4: A few guy friends getting a little ahead of themselves. Save the dancing for the club, guys! Actually, its my fault: I told them to dance!

5: Us at the club latter that night.

Graduation fun and Dancing all night

Groaning groggily and reaching blindly for my glasses, I sat up in bed and observed the clock; 14:12?!? How could I possibly have slept until just before lunch?! And then it all came back to me and, with a smile, I hopped out of bed. Well, dancing until 2:30 in the morning can do that to you, can’t it?!
But let me go back to the beginning: last night was the graduation ceremony for my class. Sadly, this ceremony does not include caps and gowns, but rather a ceremonial retrieval of the class photo by every senior, whether he or she is graduating or not. The one plus to all this: you get a sort of fashion show of all the dresses and suits! Of course, this can be extra interesting when you throw into the mix a rickety old set of metal stairs that bend under the weight of the lightest grad and don’t lend themselves too well to the abundance of stiletto heels in attendance and a light breeze that frequently caused the Marlilin Monroe effect on some of the poor, unsuspecting females. Oddly enough, most of the teens in attendance paid no attention to the ceremony –leaving that to their parents- and opting instead to chat with their friends at one end of the patio. This may seem disrespectful, but they just don’t seem to give as much importance to this event as we do in America. The ceremony was initiated by a few speeches –one from a teacher (“This is the last lecture you will receive from one of our teachers, but I promise you that I won’t quiz you on irregular English nouns! Instead, I would like to share a few words from John Lennon’s Imagine…”) and another from a student (“I know the teachers have been very patient with us, but we have been doubly patient with them!...”)- and brief musical numbers performed by the younger 7th – 10th grade students, including percussion, flutes, and voice, were interspersed here and there. The final number was, in fact, We Go Together, and made me nostalgic of our lovely good old days in Grease. The food tables opened up thereafter, and the hungry teens swooped down on the pizza with great zeal, fortunately leaving the Spanish omelet sandwiches all to me! They also had, of course, olives and cheese out, because it just isn’t a Spanish buffet without the olives!
Then came the social hour until a quarter to ten when we all took a bus, or hitched a ride with a professor as we smart students did, over to an Italian restaurant for dinner. There, we chatted, or rather shouted over the ruckus so as to be heard, and generally enjoyed ourselves for the hour or so before we ordered and ate. From the very beginning, pitchers of sangria (a fruity, lightly alcoholic beverage) and beer lined the tables, and were refilled every five minutes or so by busy waiters. (Remember, the legal drinking age in Spain is 18, so this was only illegal for a select few). A friend of mine was kind enough to ask a waiter to bring me water, and they kept the water coming all night long! My pesto pasta was delicious, and everybody else’s pizzas looked good too!
At midnight, teachers and all walked over to the club that was reserved especially for us, and we got checked off the list and stamped on the forearm. Inside, the music was loud, but usually had a good salsa beat that was fun to move to. There were a lot of us, and after a while they opened the club to the public, but it was never uncomfortably crowded. After getting over any embarrassment over dancing, since I haven’t ever danced at a club before, I fell in love all over again. I cannot express my passion for just moving my body and letting the rhythm move me. There was very little of that traditional partner dancing, which is better by far, but it was fun all the same and I got to meet some new people. Granted, by 2:00 in the morning the floor was fairly sticky due to the number of drinks that had been broken and spilt all over the place, but that didn’t really impede the dancing –nor the drinking. In the end, I had to leave before the place filled up as much as it probably did later in the night because my host dad kindly volunteered to pick me up and drive me home since the busses and the tram stop running long before the parties start. There is a night buss, but it doesn’t run out to where I live. The only thing I could think as we drove home, aside from how my feet were rather sore and eyes very droopy, was that I really want to go out dancing again. We’ll see if my wish comes true.

Well, that was Friday night and Saturday morning. Saturday afternoon included some hardcore lazing and an evening outing to Alicante to hang with another exchange student friend called Molly. We stopped by a little event on the street where booths from all sorts of volunteer and aid organizations distributed pamphlets and Moroccan goodies –such as cookies and tea- and sold T-shirts and books so that the proceeds could go towards eradicating poverty. Meanwhile, a little theatrical production went on for the kids and nearly drove Molly insane by the repetitive musical lyrics and, admittedly, not particularly trained voices. But, their jester outfits certainly captivated the attention of every child –and adult- on the street, and reminded me of a certain Garbeaus´ show and Hailee… :-) It is amazing the sheer amount of organizations that you can volunteer to here in Spain, and most of them work directly with the children in Africa or India. Molly told me about a friend of hers who appears materialistic and only into fashion and shopping who actually made a trip to Mexico to dig sewers in rural areas and now plans on going to India for do another service project there. Goes to show that you can’t judge a book by its cover, or a girl by her clothes. And all this reconfirmed a notion that has been making turns around my mind for the past few months: I think I need to go to Mexico, or another Latin American country, one of these upcoming summers to do a service project. After our stay at the booths, we, predictably, made our way to one of the many tea houses and sat down to chat until I had to make it back to the station to catch my last tram. Fortunately, unlike most other days, we did not get there late and miss it!

Sunday I went out climbing, but my climbing shoes have been forming holes in the toes, so I sent them off to be repaired this last week. I figured that if I wanted to do some serious climbing through Europe with my dad then I had better have some new rubber on those tips. However, the shoes did not make it back to me in time for this climbing trip, like I had thought they would, so I climbed barefoot. Now, this was ok for some of the routes, and only upped their difficulty a grade or two, and one heel hook move made me very proud, but other climbs were downright painful. Remind me to never climb barefoot on that kind of rock again, because some of it was like broken glass. Granted, I came away with minimal cuts, but I had to be practically hauled up the end of the last route because my feet were just too red and sad to do it anymore. If I climbed more regularly barefoot, then my feet would adapt and toughen up and I would probably climb better without shoes because my toes can curl better and my feet fit into smaller holes, but I’m just not willing to go through that kind of torture. All this brings back memories of that amazing pre-teen climber from Santa Cruz who did a double toe-hook on the ceiling in that open Women’s final at one Rocknasium competition a ways back. *sigh* Mad talent.

Well, skipping back to Thursday, I got a chance to do some volunteer work, like I´d been hopping. I spent the moring at the university with a couple other women manning a booth for the Association Against Cancer. It was fun because we traded people cigarettes for lollipops as a way to promote quitting smoking and promote awareness of different web sites and groups that can support you as you try to quit. There was none of that “This is what your lungs look like after 20 years of smoking. Death will befall you!” stuff. But we did have this cool little thing called a coxometer (or something to that effect) that measures the amount of carbon monoxide in your lungs and, essentially, how much negative influence smoking is having on your lungs. Some people got good news, and others got bad news. We gave the people with bad news extra lollipops.

Well, as always, thanks for tuning in to my wave length and checking up on the happenings of my life and mind. I always appreciate it and I relish your comments. Can’t wait to see you all again!

Love,

Jocelyn

PS Random Spanish fact: In Spain, you wear your wedding ring on your right hand.