The Value of a Culture: an article

If you would like to read an article about my abroad experience on the Scripps College website, just click upon this link and enjoy!

http://www.scrippscollege.edu/news/feature-stories/the-value-of-a-culture

Those last few days: Thank you, Chile.

Today was a wonderful rainy day. With my classes all finished and the wind whistling against my window, I stayed warm inside all day -while studying for that fateful public health final. I’m in this cozy homebody mode that makes me think of fuzzy hats and steaming tea. Mmmmmm. This comfort comes, in large part, from absolutely adoring my host family and feeling quite at home amongst their soft comings and goings. I can drift into my host mother’s room to sit at the side of her bed as she reclines, knitting a nice café colored sweater. Brown is the only color she will wear this year, having promised this token of thanks to the Almighty for having helped her eldest son through the pains of cancer. I admire her strength. We sit, chatting aimlessly as my mind decompresses from the hours of endless studying: estudios de caso y control, factores protectores psicosociales, tasas crudos y naturals…I’m working on putting neat little mental labels onto this torrent of information.

I am here, and yet I am gone. I’m blissfully comfortable, and yet I have my frustrations. I will return to this home of mine, but I don’t know when. I am here, but my mind is already moving onward to my travels, excited for Robert’s arrival to this lovely country. I’m so comfy with my host family and Chilean customs, and yet the bureaucracy and inflexible educational system have given me enough end-of-semester stress to last a lifetime and make me long for Scripps College. The difficulties that have come with my public health class are certainly part of why my mind has already left Chile to reside in, perhaps, Bolivia or Peru; since I’m toiling to complete my school work and have dropped nearly all other activities to do so, it feels like I have already left the life I created for myself here and entered into a new one. Or, rather than a new one, a transitional phase –that gray waiting room that leads to an expansive patio of brilliant colors; it’s no wonder that my mind keeps skipping on ahead to that vibrant expectancy! But as I say, the gray waiting room is tinged with a rosy hue thanks to the love I have for my host family and the endearing reprieves that they provide for me around mealtimes and study breaks.

Yes, I love this place. I love its colors and I love its people. I adore the joking and playfulness that permeate the climbing gym atmosphere. I appreciate the spectacular oceanic views that arise around those golden sunsets and after all nightlights have been lit, like a starry blanket draped over undulating land and water. I am tickled pink by my cute little room and the greenery that garnishes my wide-window view. And I can’t help but feel quite at home with another neat-freak in the house; me and my host mom get along very well in this regard! I’ve loved the children who I’ve taught and learned from through my internship, and I just might sell my soul for a lifetime supply of pan amasada. The people are quirky and unique –nothing like Spain or Senegal, Thailand or the USA- and I really enjoy coming to understand their tendencies and their perceptions of themselves. And, of course, I’m head over heels for Spanish. *sigh *

But what would I change about Valparaíso, Chile if I could? They are few. I would: 1) Instill flexibility in the educational system. 2) Give every stray dog on the street a loving home. (This goes beyond benevolence and straight into the realm of public health.) 3) Put a smile on every bus driver’s troubled face. And 4) Replace every cigarette with a potted plant and every smoker with a tree-hugger.

Yes, Chile will always hold a piece of my heart, just as Spain can claim my love and California will always be my home. Thank you for the creative space you have given me, Chile. Thank you for your disregard to time and your strong pride. Thank you for your graffiti-smattered allies and your hills of children-blocks primary colors. You have instilled your colors in my heart and your delicious fresh produce in my appreciative stomach. I would that I could contain My Chile and My California all in one country, but alas, they are both too full and beautiful to collide and loose themselves within one another. At the very least, I can let them meld together within me and let my eyes reflect the loving sustenance that each has to offer.

The next time you see me, give me a hug –and that hug will be, in part, from Chile.

Love,

Jocelyn

A Rubber Ball Bouncing About Cultural Walls.

The difficulty of living within another culture is that I can't challenge the cultural norms the way I do back home. I can't poke at the culture, teasing it, bending it, warping it and testing out its limits. I can't throw myself against it like a rubber ball, just to test its elasticity and see how far it bounces me back. If I critique it, this must be done carefully so as not to offend. When those tale tell homophobic slang phrases ("¡Que maricón!") affront my basic principles, I must be careful in correcting them and pointing out their injustice. Said directly and sincerely, in the way I would call out these remarks in the states, I am liable to come across to a Chilean of Senegalese person as believing myself to be culturally superior, or –what is less offensive to the native but perhaps more frustrating for me- written off as an ignorant foreigner commenting on phenomenon that I just don’t understand. “That slang in the states might be homophobic, but our use of “maricón” is purely innocent; the fact that is means “stupid” really has nothing to do with gay people!” And who am I to say; I’m just an outsider.

My body may be working within this culture, but my mind is unavoidably working from without; given this distance, I must work to respect the culture, learn from it, learn of it, and come to understand it as best as I can. At the same time, I must be moldable within it, adjusting my behaviors and expectations in order to get along, but without compromising my integrity and values. And that is my constant journey: cultural adaptation. But it makes me relish that pushy, punchy relationship I have with my own beloved, imperfect culture. In Norcal, I can disregard a few formalities, shrugging them off as superfluous or rejecting them as unjust or discriminatory. I can learn of the expectations my society has for my appearance and then grin and enjoy my shaven head –because I know exactly how these atypical experiences are nurturing my own growth. But it is exactly that: take the time to learn and then consciously step away from norms and towards freedom.

Here, in a way I’m a perpetual child –albeit a very rational, independent one- who has to relearn how to use the toilet and the best way to navigate social situations. I’m constantly on the brink between social faux pas and smooth interactions. I don’t know how to light a Spanish stove or flush a Senegalese toilet (or at least I didn’t at one point), but I can bring great insight before a Chilean dinner table and effectively describe my lessons learned. But within all of this back and forth –child to adult, and back to toddlerhood again- I present the interesting perspective of one who doesn’t quite belong but simultaneously fits perfectly into the puzzle; I have my role as the foreigner, the adoptive daughter, the climbing friend, and the Chinese student, y cabo aquí. I fit here, although I may have not in Senegal, and I contribute in lovely ways, perhaps giving back in infinitesimal part of the infinite generosity that I receive. But, as I say, I’m always “handling with care” and making euphemisms of my hearty critiques, whereas I can dive straight to the heart of matters in the states. But therein may lie another cultural difference in itself; we Americans are quite blunt and don’t often soften our words with so many flourishing formalities as the Senegalese or tiptoeing hesitancies as the Chileans.

It is wonderful to know and love a host of cultures, but after all is said and done, it is quite delightful to go back to breaking the mold in that good-old comfy culture back home, knowing exactly what you are commenting on and loving the choices that come of truly knowing your own culture. In order for this little rubber ball to appreciate bouncing about our American cultural walls, it had to learn to become still and observant within other cultural spaces, wriggling into new positions that might have proved awkward but usually provided interesting insights into the many ways that we of this world communicate -and the assumptions that underlie those utterances and gestures.

Burnt Toast.

I woke up this morning missing burnt toast -that rich, browned taste borne of mindlessness and multitasking. I'd say we in the states have a culture of burnt toast; with one foot already out the front door and the other back in the bedroom still tying that last lace, the toast is sometimes forsaken.

-9 May, 2010

Trembles and Trabajos

These days, the earth trembles little beneath our feet. Yes, we are rocked to sleep from time to time, but we return the china to its pristine place upon the shelf and let the ties lie loose that once snugly restrained the cupboard knobs. Instead, resounding hammers and fresh plywood are our reminders of the earth’s strength. Fragrant sawdust betrays our thinly veiled wounds and sweat falling contains the remnants of tears -but the beams and scaffolding carry us up to a broader, brighter horizon. May the children be the first to scamper up and kiss the earth’s brow, their fear dissipating as they witness a nation on the mend.

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I have a difficult time deciding which Chilean profession I adore most. There are so many to choose from! (Above all within the informal sector!)

Is it the Clown that plays to the crowds on the bus, bringing a few quirky smiles to the faces of otherwise straight-faced folk?

Is it the Night Bus Assistant who informally aids the driver by herding around the drunks as peacefully as possible? (The night-bus ambiance is quite distinct, incorporating black light and loud music as a sort of continuation of club atmosphere. Its quite a public transportation party!)

Or is it the Car Parker that stands on his designated street, directing cars, and rolling them around if need be? I have to admit, the sight of a random man in a jumpsuit rolling around cars that obviously don’t belong to him is something that made me stop and stare the first time I came across it. I was so pleasantly surprised by the novelty of his profession that I had to laugh aloud.

But then there’s that one girl who spends her days doing cheerleader before busy traffic at red lights. Were you to ask her, she would tell you that she does ‘los semaforos’ -the streetlights, receiving small change from her amused traffic audience as payment. She gets thrown into the air time and time again over hard pavement, only to be caught after her striking performance by three pairs of strong, muscular arms. I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind filling her shoes from time to time! (And not because of the arms either; who wouldn’t want to do gymnastics for pay?!)

Ultimately, it does no good to choose a favorite; each of these odd professions brings me amusement and joy in turn, drawing to my attention the nuances of a country that holds so many subtle, unique qualities. Looking back on Chile in years to come, I’m sure my mental image will depict an array of rainbow houses upon myriad hills, all of them gazing amusedly over the clowns and car-rollers beneath them.

Insights through a Facebook Convo with my Sis

This is an ongoing conversation I've been having with my sister, Maryellen, on facebook. I thought some of you might be interested in my responses to her questions. I love you MaryEllen!

Maryellen: (asks me about school)

Me: My school is actually really easy. Sure, its in French, but I can speak French pretty easily now and I don't have to write too much. Writing in Fench is definitely more work. But they purposefully don't give us very much homework so that we can do a lot of learning outside of the classroom -on the street with the people. They know that we want to have time to learn about Senegalese culture. :-)

Maryellen: Thats good, whats the other launage your learning????

Me: Wolof. That's the language I'm learning. For a long time nobody ever wrote in Wolof. They only ever spoke it, but in the last couple hundred years it has been turned into a written language also. Its fun because its completely different from english, spanish, and french, which all have latin roots. Wolof uses some french words and some arabic words, but otherwise it has African roots. :-) I like it.

Maryellen: Thats cool :D does it sound really different? You'll have to speak it for me! I wanna hear it now. [...] So how are you? Like how is it when your just at home with your family?

Me: Well, I'm doing pretty well. At home with my host family, I'm constantly having to be careful not to do something that will offend them. Like, when they're eating around the communal bowl, I can't lean over to check and see if there is meat in the dish to see if I'm supposed to join them or if I should wait for another plate to be brought out for me that is vegetarian. Its hard figuring out what is expected and what is inappropriate, but when I remember to laugh at myself and joke along with the others, its a lot of fun. My host brother, LouLou, likes to tease me and joke around. Since I had a run-in with my family on Thursday about food and I mentioned that I was just checking to see if the communal bowl had protein, he will joke to me every meal, "so, is there enough protein on your plate?" or, "ooh, yum! look, its protein!" They just don't understand why I would be vegetarian, but I laugh with them because I understand that they're just playing. My host mom is nice, but when she gives suggestions it sounds like she's angry and yelling at you, so I have to remind myself every time she gets like that that she's not mad -its just her way of talking. A lot of the host mom's are like that here; its the culture. There are two two-year-olds who are constantly playing and laughing and crying and getting into trouble. I love them so much! We play all sorts of games together. There's also another host student here, Britta, from the US and she's really sweet, but we both do our own thing. Its good because that way we don't spend all our time talking in english together at home and, instead, are able to practice our French with the family. But she has a lot of fun playing with the kids, too. There are always a lot of people around. There are about 10 people currently living in our house and we'll usually have a few guests drop by for every meal. Sometimes, there'll be 15 of us eating together, and that's not weird here. Family is very important here, so my host mom lives with her grown children and their kids, the two-year-olds, and a couple of maids who do a lot of cleaning and make the meals with my host mom and sister. But my cousin Assane is my favorite because he helped me put up a mosquito net over my bed and laughs with me and is easier to talk to.

Maryellen: So your family seems nice! :D I wish I could meet them sometime. Why arent you supposed to lean over and see what if the dish has meat or not? So how much time do you spend at home and at school? Do all the kids and teens go to school everyday? And is there anyone my age in your host family? Do most people in Senegal go to college? What does your family do for a living? Do you have to do chores and what do you guys do for fun? -- Haha, that was a lot of questions :D

Me: I'm not supposed to lean over the dish because its considered rude. They expect me to wait until I'm called to eat and not be nosy about what everybody else is eating.

I spend a couple hours every morning at school before coming come for lunch for an hour or so. Then I go back to school again until 4:30 or 6:30 pm, depending on the day. I usually stay at school later to do homework and take advantage of the internet connection. Then I get home in time for dinner at 8:30. On the weekends, I go out and do different activities, but I hang out at home sometimes, either playing with the kids or talking with my family or doing homework. So, I spend a lot more time a school than at home.

Most all kids and teenagers go to school monday through friday, but there is a whole bunch of kids who live on the streets. They are called talibe and they beg because they have no parents taking care of them. Its complicated, but basically there is a fake religious leader called a marabout who is supposed to be taking care of them and teaching them the Coran, but instead of having the kids beg only around meal times and then calling them back to study, like they would have done in the villages in the past, he just takes advantage of the kids by making them bring back money to him in the evening. And they don't learn about their religion. Its sad. As for other kids, some of them work instead of going to school and even those who do go to school are sometimes in classes with 100 students for one teacher. The education system here is in a really bad state.

Nope, there is nobody your age in my family.

No, very few people are able to go to college. And even if they do go to college, the education is not as good as ours because the professors keep on going on strike because the government doesn't pay them regularly like its supposed to. The government doesn't work very well because it's corrupt. The politicians are greedy and the president is constantly changing the constitution so that he can have more power.

My host mom is retired. My host brother works at a bank and my host sisters stay at home and raise the kids. My host cousin is out of work, but that's pretty normal. 50% of the population here has no formal job. Many of those people work "informally" by selling fruit or books or towels or just about anything on the street, but a lot of those people just have no job. Its really troubling.

I don't have any chores because they kinda think of me as a guest and we have two maids. I take my clothes downstairs every wednesday so that the maids can handwash it all, hang it up to dry on the clothes lines to dry, and iron it before giving it back. My host mom will start cooking lunch at 10am in order to serve it at 1:30pm and the second maid is constantly sweeping with this little hand-held broom made of long, whispy bristles and scrubbing. So, there's a lot to be done, but I just keep my own room clean and, lately, have started washing my own bowl and spoon on the tub. The maids laughed when they saw me doing that for the first time, but I do it anyway because I know they like it and it makes me feel better.

For fun, I go surfing, talk to mom and dad on skype, go to the market with my friends, hang out and talk with my senegalese friend, make little trips out of the city, run errands, go to the beach... But my host brother and most other people go out clubbing on the weekends. We also go to concerts and other cultural events sometimes.

...

A Day In the Life \\ CULTURE SHOCK

The watch beeps at 7am to tell me its time for Jocelyn’s private yoga, crunches, pushups, and dancing extravaganza, soon to be followed by a short shower that would be more appropriate to call a short drizzle. The washing of underwear occurs at this time since each person is responsible for her own socks, bras, and underwear. After my brief but refreshing rendez vous with the cold water and detergent, I dress myself and head down to a breakfast of baguette, with butter or chocolate spread, and milk. I could have hot chocolate or nescafé, but I prefer the powderized, boiled milk that, if served to me hot, leaves me drenched in sweat before I even leave the house. I could do without that sweat.

The walk to school is 20 minutes along dusty, exhaust ridden roads lined by locals who I make sure to greet kindly. Greetings are incredibly important here, although I’m still trying to negotiate who exactly I aught to be taking the time to exchange the customary, lengthy, Wolof greeting with. It’s good and fine to make friends and be culturally sensitive, but being a tubab (foreigner), I attract a lot of (unwanted) attention. We all do. The number of times that I have been offered or requested a phone number is countless and one marriage proposal is already in the bank. Oh, that romantic day in front of the gass station when that tall, dark, and …I didn’t get a good enough look at him to know whether he was handsome… man called from beside the gas pump, “Hey, tubab! You beautiful! Will you marry me?” To this mix of English and French I deftly repied, “Oh, I’m already married! Buh’bye!” …Good times.

Having passed the fruit stands and multiple vendors, I arrive at Suffolk University Campus where I have a class or two in the morning taught by Senegalese professors before I head back home for lunch at 1:30pm. My host brother, Lou-Lou, comes home from work at the bank on his spiffy motorcycle and joins the rest of us in eating the largest meal of the day. It is heavy, oil-laden food that is absolutely delicious. Rice and fish is the norm but French fries are a popular rice-replacement and vegetables are usually provided. If everyone else is having meat then they still provide me with fish, pescatarian that I am. We eat in the living room alongside the active TV, either eating around a communal bowl with the use of forks and fingers or on plates over our laps. I’m incredibly grateful for the allowance of right-hand usage in the fish-eating business because picking out all those little bones with a fork is nigh impossible. Oh, and the fish comes whole –head and tail included.

Back to school I go, taking advantage of the wireless to post blog entries and the like, and I finish up my classes for the day. I’m taking Wolof, Advanced French II, Senegalese Culture and Society, The History of Islam, and a community internship course. For my internship, I’m co-leading a student-founded ONG working to provide tutoring and various activities to local girls as a means of furthering women’s education. Classes accomplished, I hang out with other American students, do homework on campus, or return home to hang with my family in the living room. The Wolof flies right over my head so I sit and listen, wishing I knew what was going on and keeping a lookout for the few words I do know. When they occasionally revert to French, my ears perk up. Dinner is at 8:30pm and it is followed by fruit for dessert –usually mangoes from heaven or watermelon. I usually go to bed right after dinner, but everyone else stays up a bit.

By this time, several planes on their way to the nearby airport will have coasted over the house so close that I almost want to plug my ears and the power will have been down for more than fifty percent of the day –on and off. Apparently this is a new phenomenon over the last three years that is a politically hot topic; the Dakar people are enraged at their President, Abdoulaye Wade, because the power outages are indicative of his failure to maintain a stable country. He was the opposition in the 2001 election, the Obama of Senegal, lighting up national hope that politicians would actually work for the good of the people instead of maintaining a façade of democracy in order to rule for twenty-year swaths of time without doing a thing, like the previous two presidents. Unfortunately, Wade did not live up to his promises, and since his election the price of food has skyrocketed and the quality of education has plummeted. People are angry, but he was reelected anyhow. You might compare this to Bush being reelected; we’re not really sure how it happened, but what can ya do? (I send out my apology to all American Republicans at this point in my post! :-D I come in peace!)

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CULTURE SHOCK

Being in a new culture is not always a breeze. Granted, I let my blog present my positive mental incline, laughing at myself and focusing on the good stuff, but sometimes I loose that ability to laugh at myself –and I cry. See, it is so critical to keep perspective and recognize the cultural differences constantly because, if you loose sight of that and try to copy/paste your own cultural presumptions onto a situation then you are doomed to conflict and misunderstanding. Easier said than done. This means that every time my host mother speaks to me, I must keep in mind that what might sounds like yelling and chastising in the US is actually suggesting and encouraging here. So, when a family friend compares me to previous American students here and says that they assimilated far better than I because they actually went out and partied like the Senegalese as opposed to being quiet in living room conversations like me, I need to keep in mind that he’s only trying to encourage me to “do as the Senegalese do.” Even as I recognize intellectually what is going on, my gut reaction is one of distress. Even if I know they mean well, I tense up. It’s a constant learning process: making mistakes, not understanding, letting go, correcting, forgetting, remembering, asking, listening, and watching. I have to navigate carefully through the busy market place in Marché Sandaga, guarding my belongings, fielding people left and right who are trying to sell me their wares or be my guide or both. Knowing who has good intentions and who just wants to earn a few francs is nearly impossible and staying on the cautious side inevitably leads to slightly offending some well-meaning people. A few off encounters in the market combined with a few misunderstandings or assumptions at home is plenty of stress for one day. This, my friends, is culture shock.

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.)

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!

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).

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.

10 Ways in Which Spanish Culture Differs from Ours (And my week)

10 Ways in Which Spanish Culture Differs from Ours:

1) Political campaigning is far more in your face here: their posters are not just the names and slogans of the candidates, but a big head-shot of them plastered across the walls over and over again. During election times, you walk down the street receiving creepy grins from the same ten men and women a million times over. Additionally, they inform you of upcoming rallies over loudspeakers mounted on the top of cars that inch along the roads and blast their message to you, accompanied by music, ten times a day.

2) Recycling is big here. If you don’t recycle, then you are an exception. Every street boasts a line of huge bins for glass, paper, and every type of plastic.

3) Water is a precious commodity here, since we are essentially living in the middle of a desert. Most people know that they need to use their water wisely, so we all turn off the shower while lathering our bodies or brushing our teeth. And not just for money reasons either, but also for environmental reasons.

4) Here they have language schools where you can go for a month or two every day and study a language. At the end of that time, they test and certify you in that language and this opens up job opportunities. These schools are private, but very common.

5) The people here drive so fast that it is unnerving. However, they are also some of the best drivers around because they have to go through a lot of work to get their licenses. But I still wouldn’t want to drive on the same roads as them!

6) Personal hygiene is not as emphasized here: showering is not necessarily a daily thing, and certainly not something you do more than once a day. They don’t always wash their hands before eating, and it appears that they don’t always do so before leaving the bathroom either. Of course, this is a generalization as I don’t follow every Spaniard into the bathroom to check up on their washing habits, but it is clear that they are not as germaphobic as we are.

7) Pharmacies, glasses shops, and a few other specialty shops use universal signs to mark their entrances. For example, for a pharmacy, you will always find it marked by a fluorescent green cross and a glasses shop will be easy to find because you only need to keep an eye out for a lit sign shaped like a pair of pink glasses sticking out of the building. Yes, this is very logical, but any American business would immediately think, “But I don’t want to have the same sign as every other pharmacy! I want to stand out as different.”

8) Graffiti is everywhere. The teens hardly consider it refutable and the city has crews who regularly circle the city to repaint the benches and walls. (This is rather unfortunate when you come to the tram stop only to find that all your benches have recently painted and you have no place to sit for the twenty-minute wait.)

9) School buses are huge in a tall way. They look more like our tourist buses than school buses. One friend asked me, “Are your school buses in America really yellow like they show them in the movies?!” They thought it was a pretty funny idea.

10) The standard size paper is taller, the envelopes are not as wide, their binders all have four holes instead of three, and they hardly ever write on lined paper opting instead for plain white paper or graff.

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Well, things are certainly slowing down here. Well, in my life at any rate. The truth is that things are just getting started in Alicante with all the tourists flocking in from everywhere and shops opening up to receive them. But for me, last week was the last week of school. I took a few tests, which I’m sure I did pretty well on even though I didn’t study, and got results back for some of my tests. Guess what?! I GOT A 9 ON MY LAST PHILOSOPHY TEST!!! I was so surprised when I found out because I didn’t even study for the test, but I essentially got an A on it! Maybe I should just stop caring about my grades and scores more often if I come out with grades like these! Just kidding.

Anyways, I tried that drink horchata made out of the juice from the groundnut and it was really good! It is served cold and is very sweet. I cannot describe the taste, but it reminds a little of coconut and chai tea.

Well, what have I been doing this week aside from the minimal testing? I’ve gone to the beach a few times, and a friend commented that ya’ll aren’t gonna recognize me with this tan! I dunno, I’m still white as cream compared to most everyone here. I’ve also hung out with a few friends on different occasions down in Alicante, browsing shops, going to tea houses, eating kabobs and falafels, and talking.

On Sunday I went out climbing with Ignacio and his dad at a place called Crevillentes. T’was good. It was all displome, “overhanging,” which is my favorite. I only climbed four short routes , but the last one was a fun challenge with a funky crux up toward the end where I had to go up to an under-hanging pocket, clip, and use the side of a ledge to get up to the good holds above. I have to admit that I have not been climbing as much here, so I am definitely not up to my usual level. *sigh* Good thing dad is coming here for a few weeks to get me back in shape before I get back! Man, since I went to Paris, my hands got all soft and shed, so now my climbing time is determined by how long my hands can hold out before I turn in, blowing on my raw red digits. But I will get those calluses back!

Well, I have about two and a half weeks here until my exchange is officially over. During that time, I will go to the graduation ceremony and party, chill with friends, go to the beach, climb, paint, go to an ancient archeological museum exhibit, and hopefully go to a few shows. All in all, I have too much time on my hands. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to do some volunteer work, but who knows if that will pull through. Well, feel free to write me and ask all sorts of lengthy questions to keep me occupied for the long summer hours ahead!

Love,

Jocelyn

Beautiful París

What is Paris? The city of romance? The capital of France? That one place where they have that cool tower? The international city? Or all of the above? My experiences fit into all of these categories and more.
I’m guessing the first thing that pops into your head is, “The city of romance? What hot French guy did Jocelyn run into this week?!?!” Well, to tell you the truth Caitlin, I did run into Pierre! However, he was a middle-aged college professor with an excellent English accent who helped us get around the city and in no way created a romantic atmosphere! The crepe man, on the other hand, was workin’ it! So, a few friends and I were in dire need of some crepes on our last night in Paris and, so, stopped at one of the many crepe stands to splurge. One of the other girls ordered first, and the first sign of our evening’s entertainment came when the man spreading out the batter for her crepe asked her if she would like extra chocolate. The next question, however, had us doubled over laughing. The seemingly sensitive crepe man looked at her in all seriousness and asked: “Have you ever had a French kiss?” She turned bright red, looked at the crepe she has just bitten into and says, “This is a really good crepe!” Him: “But have you?” Her (to me): “Isn’t this a really good crepe?” Him (in all exasperation): “You haven’t answered my question!” Her (to the only boy in the group, under her breath): “Will, will you pretend to be my boyfriend please?!” Meanwhile, the rest of us just gasped for air mid-laughter. :-D In the end, she gave him a kiss on the cheek goodbye and we made off with the best crepes ever!
Aside from its ever-romantic air, Paris is certainly diverse. It has a huge black population and many Asians, which contrasts notably with the comparably homogenous population of Spain. But the tourists also make for a diverse, interesting city. Friday night, Martha, Maurício, and I –two Americans and a Brazilian- find ourselves accompanying a group of Mexican guys around the city and comparing the Spanish and Mexican eating schedules, among other things. An hour later, I find an Indian family, strike up a conversation, and discover that I was just in their hometown of Bangalore this Christmas! The Korean artisan cut out my profile in paper, the French man served us dinner, and the rest of the exchange students from the Philippines, Australia, and America joined us shortly thereafter. Can you imagine the amazingly interesting conversation that springs from such a varied group?! Over dinner on the first night, we got to hear all about Veggymite –the Australian equivalent of our peanut butter which is immensely popular, eaten on bread, apparently made up of vitamins, and of an unappealing grey appearance! Needless to say, peanut butter sounded better to most of us compared to that unidentifiable grey substance. Note to self: taste Veggymite when in Australia.
So what did I do while I was in Paris? Well, I certainly walked a lot, so that might have worked off the calories from the crepes and French pastries, but I doubt it! I ate this delicious raspberry tart on the second day which was indescribable, but lets not get too far off topic here! We were talking about the walking. Walking and the metro made up our major means of transportation and got us everywhere from the Louvre, the Picasso museum, the Rodin museum, the Arco de Triunfo, the Notre Dame, and, of course, the Eiffle Tower. The highlights were, of course, the Louvre, Notre Dame, and Eiffle Tower, although I only went to the second platform of the tower and not the top. Incredibly enough, we spent less than two hours in the Louvre, which is a great treachery in my opinion. We saw the Venus de Milo and Monalisa as a group before we were set loose in that immense museum to more or less fend for ourselves. I had just enough time to seek out a favorite statue of mine called Eros and Psyche before I hit up the gift shop for a minute and met the group again. *sigh* I think I’ll need to go back for longer with my dad over the summer. The Notre Dame is most interesting from the outside and when admiring its splendid stained-glass windows. And just in case everyone is wondering, I have an affinity for Renoir and Van Gogh out of all the impressionist and post-impressionist painters. I´m not a huge fan of the painting from the Renaissance, but I love Michael Angelo´s sculptures –the most perfect being his David- and Tiziano uses some beautiful colors. How about you guys? Who do you prefer?
Our first introduction to the French people was our waiter on the first night. A loose, handsome man with flourishy mannerisms and aloof posture, an eruption of giggles sprung from our table of girls shortly after he walked away for the first time. When I get back, ask for my impression of him because it is beautiful. Everyone else was admiring his blonde hair, jaw line, or forearms, but I was just amused by the way he carelessly organized the straws in the used cups. When a friend pulled out a camera so that she could show some of us pictures, he even said, “Oh, you want a picture? I can pose nude!” I dunno; all these Paris guys certainly have their one-liners!
All in all, I really enjoyed spending time with the other exchange students and sharing our experiences. Some of them have not been as lucky as me and others seem to be even better off. For example, one girl feels isolated from her haughty classmates and has no one to go out with on the weekends. She feels that her entire opinion of the Spanish and their culture has been ruined by this experience. On the other hand, another guy went on a trip to Scotland with his family, has a great group of friends, and gets along well with his host brothers. The reasons why everybody decided to come to Spain was as equally varied as what they got out of their experience. Everyone comes to learn Spanish, but some come for a change of scenery while others come to escape bad situations at home. Others come to find themselves and still others just want to have fun or discover the culture. Most everyone loves travel, but that is the extent of our shared interests. Some like theater, others do sports. A couple girls realized their shared interest in Arabic whereas another few recounted experiences from their rock bands. You just can’t categorize exchange students. Ultimately, all of us end up being outgoing, but we don’t all start out that way. The need for survival quickly draws out a more forthcoming person in each of us. Everyone is friendly and no one went home without a new list of emails or myspace names. Yes, we do speak English among ourselves, but it was refreshing to whip out those classy vocabulary words after a few months of sitting there collecting dust on the back shelves of my mind. All of us were tripping over our English for the first few days, and I kept on saying Gracias to the French store clerks. Worse still, I almost used Merci on the panadería woman this morning! Oy ve!
At any rate, Paris is a beautiful city, just as everyone has told you before. The river bridged by ancient stone majesties, the avenues lined by lovely tall trees, and the French baroque style buildings standing strong in proud symmetry all blend into one astounding landscape peaked by far-off sky-scrapers and towers. It is one of the most beautiful cityscapes I have ever seen, second only to Granada with its alit Alhambra at night. Paris is reminiscent of Barcelona, but the people and the ambiance is very different; Barcelona is more relaxed. But compared to New York, Paris is as relaxed as peaches! New York certainly symbolizes the work, work, work mindset of Americans. The French have flair and fashion, the Spanish feel laid-back, and the Americans have their progress. Well, that and our reputation of being big in every respect –big buildings, big cars, big country, big everything! Paris is great and all, but Granada takes the prize in my opinion, and Barcelona, New York City, and San Francisco all stand out along side Paris. I guess I should also see Paris when there isn’t so much rain and cold weather.
At any rate, I could go on and on about the daily schedules, which included getting up way too early, getting back to the hotel rather late, sleeping very little, and playing the “hurry and wait” game since it is so difficult to travel with such a large group. Let me know what you want to hear more about and I´ll be sure to rant about it to the saturation point.

Well, much love and thanks for reading! You have no idea how much you increase my feelings of self worth by taking the time to catch up on my life!

Besos,

Jocelyn

Birthday presents and a new spanish princess, among other things!

What a beautiful birthday celebration. Some of the most important people in my life in Spain surrounded me today, and over chocolate cake and champagne they all became acquainted. Ignacio, Amelia, Juan Agustine, Rosa, Madelin, Piri, Amachu, and Janire. These are the people who have given me the most during my stay here –a place to climb, friendly advice, support and rejuvenation, an open ear, a roof over my head, and food! And today! Oh, today Ignacio and his parents gave me the most amazing material present! They gave me a climbing backpack!!! It includes the rope bag and everything and, let me tell you, I hugged them all ecstatically before storing it in my room, where I silently leapt and whooped for joy! Madelin gave me a Frisbee from her home state, Wisconsin, among other things. All the gifts I received from everyone were so thoughtful and meaningful. What luck I have to be surrounded by loving and giving people wherever I go. Even when find myself in an emotional state where I tear up most anytime anyone mentions the word “home” or “boyfriend,” there are people who give me something to smile at.
I would like to mention the freedom that words give; I share more through this blog than I usually do with my friends back home. Feel privileged as the audience of my usually cloaked mind.
So where shall I begin today?! Should I start with the adventures of the climbing gym? Or should hop on along to talk about how I feel like I have a good set of hang-out friends at school? Or maybe I should mention that I GOT A PASSING GRADE ON MY ART HISTORY TEST!!! (a 6 out of 10!) Yes, this grade is based on the same standards as my peers, and yes, this means that I have the ability to pass a class in Spanish and upon entering it half way through! *suavely brushes invisible dust off of chest* Thank you, thank you very much! But how about those friends? Well, I went browsing through hippy shops with one girl-friend on Friday and plan on going to the beach with her and another this next Wednesday (and we’ll be bringing a volleyball!). Granted, life isn’t all peaches and cream, but who needs too much cream when you’ve got fun people to hang out with!
And then there’s the climbing gym. Well, we could call Tuesday “The Americas Night” at the gym, cause Chili, Brazil, and the US were all in attendance! I, of course, was the outstanding representative from the US, with two other young men climbing from their respective countries. (Ironically, the man from Chili goes by the name of Argentina!) It was the best gym night in a while since I finally had people who climbed closer to my level and we were able to work stuff together.
Earlier that same day, I took an hour out of one of my art classes to go and talk with an eighth grade English class. In case you’re wondering, the girls think Brad Pitt is hot, and at least one of the guys has an affinity for Julia Roberts! We talk about the important things, of course! Nah, they prepared questions for me about my life (like what sports do I like, do I have siblings, where do I live, what is my favorite Spanish food, etc.) I shared photos, asked them about their general interests, and did all…of…this…speaking…veeery…slowwly. Have you ever tried to cut down your rate of speech to half speed? It is very taxing! But besides the jaw workout, the entire experience was very fun. And you wanna know what? I never would have known they were 8th graders by their behavior! I love how there are interesting people in every age category. I grieve for the person who is “above” talking to kids or younger teens, or the teen who looks at an 80-year-old man and only sees “some old person” instead of a wealth of knowledge and experience that can be tapped into with only a few kind words and open ears.
Well, a few Spanish nuances/facts for you to relish:
1. The Spanish greeting is a kiss on each cheek, starting with right cheeks together. (This takes the place of hand shakes. I really like this different way of greeting people because it immediately breaks the personal bubble and contributes to a more physically intimate society.)
2. Hardly anyone has a dryer. They go for the good-old-fashioned clothes lines. Unfortunately, this seems to call for a lot of ironing afterwards to counter the lovely creases that form.)
3. Due to Muslim architectural influences, most every house and apartment has an indoor “patio.” (Although, ours looks more like one more room rather than a patio. Originally, it was organized so that many families could live together with a common garden/washing area open to the air in the middle of everything.)
4. The Mediterranean diet it dying and being replaced by the convenient, fast diet that is quickly overtaking the modern world. I blame us. *shakes fist at that dead guy who invented the fast-food restaurant*
5. Princess Sophia was just born today and all the Spanish news stations are broadcasting the king´s comments while all of the comedy shows revolving their shows around baby jokes, etc.
6. Now is the time of the elections, but I´m not paying attention because there are too many political parties to keep track of, and it´s all a show anyways. Many of the soccer stars seem to have more influence than these politicians!

Lots of love!

Hugs,

Jocelyn




(Note: I wrote this on Sunday but our internet was down so I couldn´t post it until today. Just so you know!)

Bull-fighting: Pros and Cons

The Spanish bull-fighter was once a well respected figure, renowned for his bravery and admired by the ladies for his flair and good looks. His honored role in Spanish culture has diminished significantly in the past decades as the Spanish people change opinion and begin to see bullfighting in a new light.
But what is bull-fighting? Well, the main attraction is the classically clad bull-fighter (or matadór, or torero) whisking about his red cape to provoke the bull and have it charge at the red fabric only to find that the torero has moved aside, unharmed. But the torero is always in danger, risking a gory end with those two sharpened horns charging at him time and again. This is the beauty of the fight: man controls nature by overcoming his fear of death. Ultimately, the matadór stabs his long blade directly in between the shoulder blades of the bull thereby killing it –or the bull comes out on top and the torero goes home with less blood and a lot of disgrace.
Myself, I am vehemently opposed to bull-fighting, but I believe that it is very important to understand the logic behind the opposite opinion. So, what is the argument in support of bull-fighting? First of all, it is an important part of Spanish history and a tradition that has survived the centuries and should thus be respected. Second, this tradition gives honor to the bull, showing its strength and giving it a glorious death. The meat of the respected animal is then given to the poor, and all of its remains are used in some way so that nothing goes to waste. Additionally, the entire spectacle serves as entertainment for the masses who always need to have some fun so that they can decompress after the stresses of daily life. Oh, and we can’t forget the revenues that come pouring into the Spanish economy from enthusiastic tourists!
All right, so now we can see bull-fighting in a positive light, but what’s the other side of the story? The opposition view bull-fighting not as a glorious death but as inhumane torture. Before the torero even comes into the picture, rounds of other men have already weakened the bull through various means, including by stabbing rods into his back (usually toped with decorative ribbons) that impede the bulls movement…painfully. The bull is already exhausted by endless running, so this is definitely not a fair match between man and animal.
So there you have it. Is bull-fighting a glorious tradition or animal abuse? A fair amount of Spaniards today opt for the second opinion and are taking steps toward the eventual end of this bloody spectacle, and one province has recently named bull-fighting illegal. However, Spain is decidedly split on this issue, with most of the support coming from the South of Spain and Madrid, the capital. This tradition is not so engrained in the culture of the North so the people there let it go more readily. Most Americans will voice their opinon against bull-fighting (at least in my experience this has proven to be true) but we need to keep this in mind: our own treatment of the animals we eat is not ideal. The bulls that are later sent to the fights live a long life free-range with an excellent diet and every comfort an animal could want. Our own cows live in indecently sized pens that hardly allow movement and with a diet that leaves much to want. Yes, we don’t give the animal a torturous death, but we don’t give it a comfortable life either. Just as the Spaniards are working to improve their treatment of animals, we would do well to better our own treatment. Something to mull over as you eat your steak tonight!

My friend Pol, and spanish nightlife -or the very little I know of it!

Pol:
With krinkly, smiley eyes and a friendly demeanor, Pol is one of those authentic characters who lives in a world unlike any that you have experienced. From the eighteenth story of our seaside apartment complex, he has a splendid view of the mountains, sea, and city, including what he calls his “two elements:” sunshine and water. Every morning, Paul rises with the dawn to enjoy his half-liter cup of café accompanied by homemade brown bread -complete with nuts, dried fruits, garlic, and pumpkin seeds integrated in it-, and topped with a mixture of balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and, again, his beloved garlic! He then whips out his hiking shoes and walks some 30 miles –even though his age more than doubles that! His house is full of crustacean fossils, cristals, fossilized shells, and interesting rocks –proof of his many expeditions along the coast and through the mountains. He speaks his Spanish with a lilting cadence that you might associate with an Italian pizza-maker (Ayy, Bam-bii-no!). His accent is due to his early life in Galicia, in the North of Spain, but looking at his extensive bookshelves, you will find more tombs, from dictionaries and encyclopedias to photographic journals of wild animal and foreign countries, written in German than in Spanish. He has spent the bulk of his life in Germany working as an investigator in a lab where they test electric appliances before releasing them to the general market. In that trend, he loves science of every kind: geology, biology, chemistry… He has a whole shelf devoted to CDs of classical music, but he also has MP3s and other modern devices, proving that he has changed with the times. He is quirky and fun, open to conversation with anyone and always up for a good laugh. While looking through his collection of white crystals that he has brought back from the mountains, he sat one up-right and said to me, “Stand back, and lets see if you can see it…a penguin!” I remark, between laugher, “Yes, a very chubby penguin!” Looking at this opaque crystal, I doubt that anyone else in the world would have connected it to those cute, arctic animals. He even has an open-air shower set up on his expansive balcony, consisting of a hose suspended from a higher part of the wall and controlled by a cord, that he can use when he fancies! Art decks his walls and wild-animal documentaries display on his TV. Everything is meticulously organized and tastefully decorated in the house who has long lived alone. He bathes in the sun, absorbed in Beethoven’s symphony with the daily newspaper draped over his lap. This is my friend Pol. ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

QUESTION FROM A FRIEND: "What do you think of the night life? I’ve heard that the dinner hours are very late and everyone hits the tapas bars until midnight/1:00 a.m.ish. It seems like most of the kids that I’ve talked with that have been there/done that really like this lifestyle!"

MY THOUGHTS:

I am not an active participant in the night life, quite frankly, but I know something about it. 1:00amish is an understatement. Usually, the youth don´t get back earlier than 3:00am on the weekend, and a lot of them stay out until 7:00am before returning to sleep until lunch at 3:00pm. Yes, everything happens later here due to the workschedule that is split into halves: before lunch (8-2:30ish) and after lunch (4ish-8:00pm). Since everyone gets home later, they don´t eat unitl 9:30 at earliest, and many dine even later. You´d think that this would be compensated for by a later wake-up hour, but no; the Spanish do not lay as much value in sleep as other cultures do, so they tend to sleep less. Spanish culture places more enphasis on having fun, relaxing, and just living, contributing to this "late nights" cultural trend. The tapas bars are a good indicator of how everything is Spain takes place outside of the house. Everyone has social hour in the frequent bars, on the beach, in the plazas, and most anywhere that isn´t inside an apartment or the rare house. The youth even drink on the streets -called botellon-, which has led to a recent call to change due to the misuse of public space. (On a side note, Spain has a a big drinking problem amonst the youth that probably results from the wide acceptance of drinking among adults, returning us to the ever-popular bars.) I can see why the other young people you know would like this life-style because it is the ultimate partier´s paradise, and I myself have been a night owl most of my life (thanks to my flexible independent sutdy schedule which has allowed me to sleep-in most week days) but I don´t stay out late here because, during the week, I have to get up for school, and on the weekend, I rise with the sun to head out to the mountains for a good day´s climbing. This schedule doesn´t really lend itself to late nights partying or dancing. Plus, I don´t drink, and watching my friends get drunk gets old fast.

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Why are the Spanish more relaxed?

Why are the Spanish more relaxed? A deceivingly simple question with complex connotations!

After Rachel raised this question over Spanish relaxation, I sat down and thought to myself, "Huh! Why are the Spanish more relaxled?!" After pondering this for a while and dallying over the begining of this blog entry, I said to myself, "What are you doing, Jocelyn? You are puzzling over this cultural question, going around in circles in your own mind without bothering to ask the people around you who are living it!" I immediately got up out of the swivelly chair and asked my host mom: Had she heard about the Spanish reputation of being more relaxed? She had, and she attributed it to the country´s siesta and fiesta-the renouned Spanish partying and napping. The Spanish admit to their love of partying openly -just ask my buddies at school- and although the siesta is not so used in today´s society, this deeply rooted traditional mid-day nap says something about Spanish history.

Juan Augustine, doctor and father of my rockclimbing friend, agrees with this reputation but notes that it is over-generalized. He imparted an interesting common phrase that reflects the Spanish disregard of tardiness: "Si vengas tarde, no pasa nada. Y si pasa, ¡saludalo!" The pun is lost in the translation, but in English it would go something like this: "If you arrive late, nothing comes to pass (ie. no problem). And if it does come to pass, greet it!" Think about our tightly-wound culture where on time is late and five minutes late is impossible. On the other hand, the Spanish don´t even tend to set predetermined times for meeting, opting for the "Anytime within that hour will do" approach. Time is something different here: less regimented and more flexible.

Maru, my "adoptive aunt" who is housing me this weekend in Malaga, attributes this relaxed lifestyle in part to the medditeranean climate, as did many of the other Spaniards I inquired. With a warm climate, the people can afford to go out in the streets, stay out late nights, and laze in the sun, whereas people in colder climates find it more difficult to travel comfortably and are restricted to house parties and other indoor activities if they don´t want to freeze their tushies or drown in the rain. But only part of Spain maintains this paradise-like climate; the north certainly has a different feel, say my confidantes. And they should know, since my entire host family comes from the El Pais Vasco near the border of France and Juan Augustine was raised in Galicia above Portugal. So they do have a bit of perspective in this department.

Juan Augustine had a few other interesting ideas on the causes of the relaxed Spanish lifestyle. Consider how Spain has been a Catholic country for the majority of the last 2000 years whereas England, France, Germany, and America are rooted more closely within the Protestant branch of Christianity. While Protestantism (pardon any spelling errors) puts emphasis on work ethic and calculable progress, Catholisism focuses more on just living. Maybe these different religious influences contribute to our different mindsets.

What do I think of all this? Well, I cannot deny that the Spanish appear more relaxed as a people. Yes, my own freedom from responsibility and the resulting relaxed state of being that I have here greatly influences my perception of the people around me -I tend to notice the people who are on my same wavelength- but I have deffinitely noticed the concrete signs of a culture more relaxed than our own (or at least different): the people sleep less and opt instead for socializing in the frequent bars and plazas, clocks are often disregarded, and "¡Tranquilla!" or "Be tranquil!" is often heard in common conversation. Additionally, the laws here are more flexible than ours in America. There is no death penalty, no one stays in jail for more than 30 years, and those who do go to jail usually get out early on good behavior. I believe that Spain´s climate and Catholic roots partially account for the relaxed mindset of the people here in the South and East. Beyond those concrete causes, I can surmise little more. The people here know that what isn´t done today can be done tomorrow and they live for good food, excellent wine, and a good time. They know that in today´s world studying is essential to future success and that work puts food on the table, but they balance this with an emphasis on family unity and living life to its fullest. There are people who don´t fill this description, who are uptight, stressed, or devoted fully to hard work, but they seem few and far between. I cannot pinpoint every cause of the relaxed Spanish mindset, but I admire their ability to see life as one fluid experience that should be enjoyed instead of a series of obstacles to be overcome. I hope I can incorporate some of this into my own life.

Cross-Comparison of Two Exchange Student´s Experiences

A few weeks ago, an aquaintance of mine -another exchange student- sent me a lengthy email describing her experiences up in the north of Spain. I thought you might find a cross-comparison of our experiences interesting.

On Moday and Tuesday classes end at 5 something, Wednesday at 1:40 and Thur, Friday at 2:40. School starts at 8:15. I have three classes and then a half hour break. Kids go outside the school and the schoolyard. There is a lot of freedom. This break is called the media. Today I walked with friends to a sort of bar/cafe. People bought drinks and smoked. Many had small sandwhiches from home, which is breakfast for many, including me. No, I did not smoke, I went to Spain, I did´t have a brain transplant. Then we return for two classes. Then lunch at 1:30...Many play soccer and other things in the yard and many wonder off. Monday I walked with people to a supermarket. Then on Monday and Tuesday we return to class after a little more than an hour and a half I think. The other days I would go home to eat lunch. They said usually three of the four family members are there for that. It is the biggest meal of the day.
-My school works similarly. I am taking many classes and am given two breaks in between, but we call them "recreo" -or recess- not "medio." Yes, everyone smokes in my school. Well, seemingly everyone. Many people drink as well, but that is engrained into their culture from a young age. I myself have tasted some fine wines over lunch. And yes, lunch is the main attraction here!

Today in English the teacher had me explain about myself and why I am here. The concept of studying abroad. The system of studying is so different that they cannot figure out how I am going to graduate. They chose concentrations their Junior year. Then we asked eachother about each other´s cultures. I asked what Spaniards think of Americans and they laughed. The first thing one girl said was that they are fat. Another said politely that this may not be true, but they only care about themselves and do not learn other languages. I sorta defended us and said it is harder to learn. Look at me, I had to come all the way to Spain to learn another language. I also said that we have to take world history. I asked them what they do on the weekends and they said they go to Barcelona to go to eat, watch movies, shop, and try to get into clubs. The teachers mentioned exhibits. One boy called Sant Cugat ugly, but trust me, it is not.
-Her description of the system of schooling (choosing your concentration early) is the same nationwide. Her reaction to American stereotyping, however, is different than mine. I know that the American schooling system is very egocentric; we focus time and again on ourselves. Yes, we have world history for one year, but how much do we really know about the rest of the world? Americans are notoriously bad at geography (compared to Europeans) and the only parts of world history that we truly know are those concerning the world wars. As for being fat, that is obviously a generalization, but look at our obesity epidemic. Those students in Barcelona have well founded premonitions in my opinion. As for the pastimes of those students, that sounds about right. Of course, its warmer here, so much of the going-ons here have to do with the beach!

There are few schools that do more than one kind of dance. They all specailize. There is also a Flamenco school in Sant Cugat. What I anticipate is two or three ballet classes at a school other than the coco comin, latin dance with Monica, and maybe trying out a Flamenco.I really think I need to keep myself busy or I will miss home. I have not had homework all week. I could join a chorus, but I am starting to apreciate my Falmouth high school with all the activities built in. Everything here is an epic to find.
-Yes, school in Spain is purely school. They don´t provide sports or theater or any other extras. I, however, am used to seeking my own extracurriculars, having done independent study for the last few years. None the less, everything is, as she says, "an epic to find!" Keeping busy is incredibly important. It is the surest way of maintaining sanity in a world that doesn´t understand you.

Ok, here are some different cultural things. I have already explained the eating schedule. They go to bed between eleven and twelve. Sometimes people go out, for example to dance class after their very late dinner. They eat more meat, not bigger portions, but mixed into dishes, or various kinds, at almost any time of the day. The light switches and toilet flushing thingys are different. You can move the showerhead around like a hose. There is a animal leg with a hoof sitting on the counter downstairs. That is not good for my vegetarian instincts. That way they know it is fresh. They eat a lot baguette bread and always fruit after dinner. I really miss salad. They often cook a part of the meal during a meal so that everything is hot. I really miss salad. The wotk schedule is weird. They often get home at eight and would prefer the American work schedule. They really know there American movies. Here there is a lot of Catalán pride. They learn the two languages at the same time. Many want to be separated from Spain. Many prefer Catalán. In my house they speak Spanish. Montse said she speaks Catalán with her daughters but I have not heard it. I already feel my Spanish improving. I can understand Catalán a little but I doubt that I will ever speak that language. One girl said where there is money there is Catalán.
-The animal leg with the hoof on the counter to which she refers is very usual in Spain. It is a hung of dried meat that they whittle away at meal after meal. It is intimidating, but at least you know where your food comes from. My host family does not actually have one, but most of our neighbors do. As for the languages, here in Alicante, everyone learns Castellano and Valenciano, which is the regional language. Many of the northern provinces want to be separate from Spain, but it appears that most of the south is content as is.

I am definitely clinging to normalcy. I really bonded with the other exchange students. When it was time to leave my temporary host family I wanted to stay with them. Even though I am all the way across the world I am still wondering a little about my SAT´s and anticipating the new Harry Potter
-I am the opposite. I have distanced myself from other exchange students as much as possible, attempting to immerse myself in my new environment. I do have to admit, however, that I have a few bits of home here (ie. my bumperstickers with inspirational phrases, which are in English, a few photos, etcetera). Many of the other exchange students are looking into taking SATs while here in Spain. Let me tell you, I am so happy that I am not one of them!

I think this is a lesson in expectations. I don´t think I am settling for less, just something a little different. I have to remember that a big part of the reason I am here is for the cultural experience.
-True that! This is so important! The best way to prepare yourself for an exchange is to learn as much about the country as you can and then throw it all away. Walk into the country without expectations and you will not be disapointed. But walk in with all sorts of ideas about how the people act, live, and think, and you´ll only have to erase it all to make way for the truth. An important phrase that they give us in our student handbook is "Different is not bad. It´s just different!" That is something that I always try to keep in mind.

Now that I can speak much more people are more keen to chat. Listening to Catalan is sorta like a lesson in picking up a language without studying, which I have never done, even if I am not trying to speak it.
-Throw your mind into new situations and miracles occur. You start absorbing things at a rate that you once thought impossible. This brings me back to a very important Seussical phrase: "Anything´s possible!"

So I have accepted that I am staying at my school. By the time I transfered if I ever found a school, it would be June. Spainards work on a different clock. The more I accept differences the happier I am. Things are going great. Catalan is a nice break to relax because people never expect me to understand it. I just took my first break and watched a movie in English. If I were hearing Spanish all day long I might go nuts.
-All of this is true. Spaniards work on a clock that goes more slowly than the American clock. They know that everything comes in time and that if you try to rush it, you only make time run out faster! Just as Catalan is her break, Valenciano is mine. I sleep during that class...or study, or draw, or center myself...you get the idea! I differ from her in that I know more Spanish so I could listen to Spanish all day and still be sane. The problem is that I have so much to share with you guys that I keep coming back to English time and again.