En Camino: Living in Spain

Despedidas y Experiencias Compartidas: Goodbye to Spain

2010-06-15T12:49:00.003+02:00

I am watching the sun fade on my last days in Motril, my home town away from home. As always happens at the end of any good period of time, events seem to speed up and condense. Since my spring trip, I have been entirely Andalucian in my travels. In 3 consecutive weekends, I was lucky enough to be able to visit 3 of the region’s important parks. First, in a camping trip with friends to Cabo de Gata in Almeria, a nature preserve that includes kilometers of coastline and some of the most pristine beaches I’ve ever seen. Next was the adventure of a lifetime in the Sierra Nevada, a mere 3 days of backpacking that included washed out trails, trespassing, bushwacking, stray dog companions, camping above the snowline, and hiking several hours in the snow in jeans, khakis, and non-waterproof shoes to summit the highest mountain in continental Spain, Mulhacen. For a fuller and more evocative account, read what Jasmina has to say http://stumblesthroughtime.blogspot.com/2010/05/summiting-mount-mulhacen-with-dog-named.html. Finally, we visited the province of Cadiz on a municipal government-sponsored youth excursion to the Parque Donana and nearby towns.

Time in general has been full and fast lately, with busy workweeks and packed weekends. The Mediterranean climate has finally showed its true colors, and we’ve had no rain for over a month. The rhythm of food, language, and pastimes here has long been just hovering on the edge of my reach, and the past weeks have felt like the final and complete immersion into this place’s life. The cruel irony, as my flatmate and colleague Alisha put it, is that everything always seems to be coming together perfectly right as you’re about to leave. Assuming that that feeling is inevitable, I will say that I am lucky to have had the time I’ve had here, to have shared it with the people I’ve known, to have seen the places and done the activities and lived the experiences and learned the things that have made this year so rich for me.

Returning to the United States from a year working and living and traveling abroad will undoubtedly bring some mild culture shock, as well as the stark realization that I am returning to a world where I am one of many idealistic, worldly, moderately accomplished recent graduates looking for work. A dose of realism awaits me, without a doubt. But first, I get to delay that inevitability with the best remedy for these types of concerns… travel, of course.

I am in currently on a break between two starkly different trips, north and south. I recently finished a 10 day solo exploration of the North of Spain, an area I have long wanted to discover and a different side of Spain from the one I have gotten to know so well here in Andalucia. In Asturias, the cradle of the reconquista and the only zone not influenced by the Moorish empire, I learned to pour cider in the traditional way at a small town fiesta, bottle overhead and the glass tilted a meter below, and hiked in the Picos de Europa with an Asturian hiking club.

In Bilbao, I explored the magical Basque coastline and wandered a city full of incredible architecture. In San Sebastian, I stayed in a pueblo where only Euskera (the language of the Basque Country) was spoken in cafes and plazas, crossed the border into France, and wandered the countryside on trails through deep green mountain forests that surely are sisters to my Blue Ridge. Both Basque Country and Asturias enchanted with their distinct traditions, history, and attitudes. The Basques, especially, surprised me with their political passion and antipathy towards the Spanish state, which even after over 600 years of integration they still see as an oppressor. A really inspiring and eye-opening journey for a lone traveller, full of good people and beautiful places and many new things.

Now I am ordering my affairs and saying goodbye to the friends and town of Motril, my home this year. Very soon, I am heading to Morocco again. This time, on a 10 day road trip that will have me packed in an old land rover along with Jasmina, a Belgian farmer, 2 Spaniards, and a Swiss student. I cannot even begin to imagine what that trip will have in store, but it is certain to be interesting. From there, the journey home, greater in its significance even than in its long distance.

I appreciate anyone and everyone who has kept up with me this year, via photos or my blog or emails. It has been an important 9 months for me, containing a lifetime’s worth of living in some ways. So, thank you all and I look forward to our next conversation in person. Best wishes, Andrew.

Travel Lessons: Spring Edition

2010-04-16T13:59:00.006+02:00

I am struck by something new every time I’ve been lucky enough to travel outside of Spain. This has a lot to do with the large differences between the places I’ve visited, of course. My most recent travels, during the Spanish holiday of Semana Santa, took me to the cold North of Europe. By far the most similar region to America, historically and culturally and ethnically, the Northwest of Europe nonetheless contrasts with the States in a way that was sure to fascinate me. A series of budget flights took me first to London, a city that looms very large in American history, economy, and culture. London was the birthplace of capitalism, of the corporation, and of the financial market. While the U.S. is now the primary player in these systems, it was London that pioneered them. Similarly, the social contract, generally defined as the idea that a government has obligations to its citizenry and those citizens can hold the government accountable, and vice-versa, originated there in the struggle between Parliament and monarchy. Oh, and we also used to be their colony.

Another obvious relation between London and the U.S. is the language. In fact, this trip was the first where I was more at home linguistically than I am in Spain. The universality of the English language as a means of international communication, at least in many parts of the world, made a huge impression on me. The British accent didn’t trip me up too bad, and Londoners actually turned out to be a lot friendly than their New York counterparts. Despite living in a city of similar size, similar diversity, and similar touristic inundation, Londoners were always happy to help with directions or recommendations, even if they just happened to overhear our conversation. London also established itself clearly in my mind as the most interesting city around for people watching. Its diversity is ubiquitous in every street, not just in separate neighborhoods, every passerby different in color and style than the last. Sikh turbans follow Arab headscarves follow blonde business suits follow African dresses. At a University of London end-of-term party for students of African and Oriental studies, the variety of backgrounds and appearances put the most diverse club at UNC to shame.

Another big impression from this trip was the level of international exchange between countries. This has a lot to do with Europe’s Erasmus program, an open exchange program for any student to spend a semester or year in a University in another country for no additional cost. In addition, though, it is not unusual for people to just live in another country, for work or because they like a city or want to learn the language. Our hosts were quite an international mix. In London, we stayed in the apartment of Czech, German, and Ukrainian students, all of whom spoke perfect English at age 18.

In Berlin, our next stop, we stayed in an apartment with an Italian, a Turkish-German, Bavarian German, a Hungarian, and a French guy. Berlin in general is very international, due to its youthful appeal and the huge of Turkish and Middle Eastern communities that immigrated in the post-war period. The history of Berlin deserves books and books, and I cannot do it justice here. Suffice to say that after spending 4 days there, and seeing how alive and recent so much of its history is, I think that Berlin is the most important city of the 20th century. It was at the center of so many major historical events, from both World Wars to Nazism and the Holocaust to the Cold War and the Berlin Wall, and affected so many more.

Needless to say, the city’s history lies heavily on the minds and consciences of its inhabitants. As Giulia, our Italian host put it, “The people in this city have to live with their history every day.” The Germans we met were generally thoughtful and willing in their discussions of their fascinating and troubled past. This continual re-engagement with the darker side of national history is something that, by contrast, the U.S. sorely lacks. Americans are not often caught discussing the destruction and displacement of American Indian tribes, or the socioeconomic legacies of slavery in the States. And as the introductory quote from Primo Levi at Berlin’s Holocaust memorial said, “It happened, therefore it can happen again: this is the core of what we have to say.” Awareness of the full costs of our history allows us to engage the present more thoughtfully and think more wisely about the future.

Aside from the city’s omnipresent history, the commonality of English again floored me. Every German under the age of 50 or so spoke easy English, although the older folks running trains and selling bread presented something of a linguistic challenge. From Germany to the Netherlands, English only became more common. In Amsterdam and the outlying town of Haarlem, I never had to think twice before speaking in English.

In Haarlem, we had the interesting experience of staying in a squat, an abandoned building occupied by a variety of friendly young leftists, punks, and hippies. The squat where we stayed, complete with hijacked water and electricity, holes in the roof and walls, and piles of theoretically-useful junk, was populated by Dutch, German, Latvian, Austrian, Romanian and Scottish twenty-somethings. Despite unconventional lifestyles and attitudes, every one spoke excellent English, again surprising me. In Cologne, where I stayed with two former exchange student friends, English was once again second nature for every young person we met.

The main take-away from this trip: we are lucky to speak English. I have been told that so many times, and it is unmistakably true, that Americans and Brits have a linguistic advantage in business, travel, and popular culture. This is part of the answer to the question that often follows: why don’t Americans learn another language? In one sense, it is not absolutely necessary for reasons outlined above. Also, our education system, despite a token effort at Spanish, just does not emphasize language as a necessary component of basic learning. Another reason is geographical: Americans just do not have the exposure to a variety of languages and cultures that European proximity provides. A day of driving in Europe takes you to a new country, language, food, and history. A day of driving in the States takes you through a few different states, with maybe a different accent or some different menu items, and little other change besides landscape. To spend time in another country generally means flying, an expensive and ultimately unsustainable means of exchange.

So, the lack of multilingualism in the States is forgivable to some extent. However, the level of Spanish language exposure and exchange in most parts of the States leaves no excuse for why Americans should not be able to communicate in the language or their one non-English-speaking neighbor. Arguments that bilingualism dilutes American culture hold no water: just look at Europe, where countries have been mixing languages and students for a century at least and each country maintains a distinct sense of national identity and culture, even with significant immigrant populations. Learning new languages allows exploration of new cultures and foments a more world-conscious perspective even as it ultimately teaches us about our own culture. Every encounter reminds me how important Americans are to the world, for good and bad reasons, and we owe it to the world to make the reverse true as well.

Place and Culture in Spain

2010-03-05T21:02:00.003+01:00

I am in my eleventh month in Spain, including my semester of study abroad in Sevilla 3 years ago, and some things continue to impress me about this country. There are plenty of stereotypes of Spain that generally hold true; macho bravado, passionate vocal exchanges, love of futbol, and a distinctly European fashion sense are all generally characteristic of Spanish culture. What gets left out, and what has struck me recently, is the consistent presence of a particular local culture integrated into Spain’s national traditions. This local culture often blends into Spain’s national character, and can be difficult to distinguish from it. Several distinctly local qualities, however, mark this important difference. Food, music, and language are generally held to be the most defining elements of a culture. I would add to this list a pattern of interaction with or knowledge of the surrounding natural environment. Let me explain.

Food -as so many contemporary students, academics, activists, and ordinary eaters are recognizing- tells a lot about a group of people and their culture. Where the food comes from, the agriculture behind it, the systems of cultivation, harvest, and distribution, the processes behind eating… these are forces that drive and ground economic and social organization. It also says a great deal about their views and traditions regarding natural surroundings, ecology, and landscape.

While there are plenty of nationally typical food types and sources, each region of Spain has a particular taste. This taste is defined, generally, by what is locally available: coastal cities and towns specialize in seafood, dairy regions are known for their cheeses, mountainous regions feast on cured ham from free range acorn-fed pigs. Add to this the omnipresent influence of wine and olive oil, both of which are inherently characterized by their origin, and it seems that every typical Spanish food is closely associated with a place (ignoring, for now, the influx and wide availability of processed and packaged food in supermarkets everywhere). In fact, even in a grocery store, every wine, oil, fruit, vegetable, cheese, or egg is labeled with its origin (either with the country, if imported, or with the Spanish province if domestically sourced).

The other side of the food issue (the first being source and production), also important, is how the food is eaten. Anywhere in Spain, the norm is light breakfasts, big lunches followed by generous siestas, and fairly light dinners. In Granada province, where I am currently residing, free small food portions called tapas are served to compliment any drink (beer, wine, even soda) one might order. Other regions serve tapas for a price. Still others do not subscribe to this stereotypical Spanish style of eating.

Concerning music, each region of Spain has a local take on the traditional Spanish styles. Flamenco guitar, rhythm, and singing are endemic to Andalucía, but this famous style influences music elsewhere in Spain (everything from grunge rock to pop to opera). Musical styles that may seem similar to an outside eye are distinct to a Spaniard. In Cadiz, where I recently attended the infamous Carnaval celebration, music groups dress up to sing original musical satires full of local and national references that are often indecipherable to non-locals. In a recent trip to the Canary Islands, I was lucky enough to listen to locals discuss their particular cultural traditions. Their music, as well as their food, is as distinct from the rest of Spain as the islands’ geographical location. While flamenco shows North African influence in its hand-clapped rhythms and twisting vocal power, Canarian music displays the rhythmic dissonance of Berber singing to the tune of a small stringed instrument (similar to Bolivia’s charango) not found elsewhere in Spain.

As for language, one need look no farther than accents. Regions, provinces, and even towns have their own particular vocabulary and pronunciation. Some drop the “S”, others blur consonants, and still others sing their vowels. Each locality recognizes and celebrates its accent, sometimes (as in Motril) self-deprecatingly. Each locality also has a reputation elsewhere in the region or country. The Canaries, for example, blend the sing-song of African languages with the straightforward pronunciation of the Caribbean to produce an accent unique to Spain.

All of this you can read in a guidebook or travel article. Also readily apparent -and very important to Spain in my eyes- is the consistent knowledge and presence of local and regional histories in contemporary economic activities, arts, and education. What reveals itself more slowly through these obvious elements, though it may be the deepest aspect of a local culture, is the connection to place. Maybe I am especially moved by the comparison to the United States, where the vast majority of residents would be unable to name the watershed where they live, the dominant trees of the area, endemic species, traditionally cultivated crops, or even the cardinal directions.

Spain’s local communities, inundated as they are with video games and pop culture, maintain an impressive awareness of their surrounding landscapes, local agricultural traditions, and situation relative to other populations. One of Motril’s local newspapers is titled after the zone’s watershed, the Gaudalfeo. Children can name dozens of crops cultivated in the area, in addition to various landforms along the coast and in the interior, and can describe the location and characteristics of numerous towns and villages in the area. On the tiny island of La Gomera, in the Canaries, the population maintains an awareness of the historical agricultural methods of terraced grain production and palm tree cultivation. They pay tribute to their ancestors’ abilities to maintain their civilization by using the island’s limited resources in a way that preserves its ecological equilibrium and balances the impact of human economic activities.

My point is not to glorify Spanish culture. As with any Western industrialized society, it has plenty of faults and shortcomings to balance the benefits of modernity. And these aforementioned elements of local culture, which I respect and admire, still lack the depth and breadth that I think is necessary for a more sustainable place-based culture. The distancing of livelihoods and cultures from the specific place that they inhabit is an unequivocally negative effect of modern society. Knowledge of place, through music and food and local history, is essential to a healthy culture. Human cultures have always emerged out of a specific environment and circumstance, and when they lose touch with this place or are transplanted they either adapt or perish. We, as Western civilization, can learn these lessons by looking at our collective histories, by observing the world around us, and by thoughtfully considering both the future we face and the future we want.

New Years Whirlwind: Italy, Croatia, Bosnia

2010-01-23T16:08:00.004+01:00

Planes, trains, and automobiles -in the rain- could be the title of this post. That, and a multicultural whirlwind of language, food, and environment, is the story of our New Years travels. Long-envisioned, planned and scrapped and re-planned, our big trip to Italy and Bosnia finally came to pass. First, though, we shared a small warm Christmas in a packed apartment in Motril, Spain during the rainiest week of the year. ‘Twas a far cry from the white Christmas enjoyed stateside, but full of holiday spirit nonetheless. Being away from familiar settings for important occasions has the positive effect of refocusing that time on the people around you, and we made the most of the company with good food, small gifts, and indoor laughter to warm everything that the heater under the coffee table couldn’t cover. On a related note, warm feet are consistently undervalued as a prerequisite for winter happiness.

In an unfortunate and freakily unusual weather phenomenon, rain practically covered southern Europe during the 3 weeks of our Christmas vacation. So, after hiding from the cold and wet in Spain, we had no choice but to face it during our exploration of Italy, Croatia, and Bosnia. The journey began with a delayed flight, missed train, and language barriers. Before long, however, Jasmina and Jordan (a visiting friend from Raleigh, N.C.) and I were hopping night trains across Italy, passing Milan, Verona, and Venice by in the dark. We passed the night on the cold marble floor of the Trieste, Italy, train station after brushing our teeth in a plaza fountain. Needless to say, it was an exercise in maintaining our positive travelling attitude in the midst of less-than-ideal circumstances.

A series of buses through the gray and beautiful evergreen landscape of Croatia landed us in the capital city of Zagreb. Left with a full day until the next available bus departure, we explored the parks, plazas, and alleys of this quietly regal city. We toasted Jordan’s 23rd birthday with midnight red wine our of paper cups, shortly before our bus crossed into Bosnia. By the time of our arrival in Sarajevo, we had endured more than 20 hours of public transportation in a variety of forms. The power of new places, youthful positivity, and good company prevailed in our hearts though, and we were able to reflect fondly on our journey thus far.

In Sarajevo, we re-united with another travelling pod of ex-pat friends in the apartment of Jasmina’s gracious and hospitable aunt. We got lucky with a break in the rain for New Year’s Eve, joining the masses in the city center for a raucous gathering that included live music, street drinking, and ear-splitting fireworks from every side at once. We explored the boisterous nightlife, finally settling on a pub with a live band doing rock covers of American songs, where we danced into the first morning of 2010.

Although somewhat daunted by a steady cold rain in a city that is normally a winter wonderland in January, we set out to get to know the mysterious and haunting beauty of Sarajevo. As the epicenter of civil conflict in the former Yugoslavia, Sarajevo bears many scars of war. Faces of people, as well as buildings, showed the effect of a long siege and a difficult recovery. Juxtaposed with this painful history, however, was the quiet impressiveness of a city that has been an important cultural capital in Byzantine, Ottoman, and Austrian Empires. “Balkans” in Slavic means “war”, and a history of conflict has endowed Sarajevo with architecture, culture, and collective memory that is as diverse as any in Europe. In one street, I stood on the spot where World War I started with the shooting of Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand. The streets of the old town feature Turkish markets alongside Austrian government buildings, all overseen by the multitude of minarets reaching skyward from Sarajevo’s countless mosques.

The view from a high lookout, of mosques and churches and graveyards and a winding river and houses lining the slopes of the long valley like a quilt, cemented the physical beauty and emotional pull of Sarajevo in my mind. During our time in Sarajevo, we also drove out to the mountainous site of the 1984 Winter Olympics, visited the city’s Sarajevsko brewery, and enjoyed a plethora of home-cooked Bosnian food and Turkish coffee. After a short 4 day visit, we left Sarajevo on a bus through the dramatic landscapes of Herzegovina and Croatia’s Dalmatian Coast. Before catching an overnight ferry to Italy, we spent some time wandering the old town of Split, which includes the well-preserved ruins of Diocletian’s Palace.

Once in Italy, on our train from Ancona to Florence, we observed the rare and unusual view of a snow-covered Tuscany. By the time we arrived in Florence, however, and for the duration of our trip, cold constant rain was back as the norm. We were lucky to find an apartment of young Italian hosts through the travel networking site CouchSurfing. Staying with locals, rather than in a hostel or hotel, is a sure way to introduce some excitement and unpredictability into your stay in a place, and our friendly Italian hosts were true to this maxim. We cooked dinner for a big group of Italians one night, shared stories and trivia questions over red wine, and tagged along on some nightlife adventures around Florence during our 3 nights in the apartment.

Florence, renowned for its artistic history and cultural vibrancy, had plenty of charms even in the rain. With cheap umbrellas and wet shoes, we braved the rain to walk and walk and walk, seeing as much of the city as we could on foot and on a budget. We also visited the nearby city of Siena, Florence’s historical political and social rival, where the feeling of old Europe filled every street and doorway. Our last stop was Bologna, where we enjoyed the free museums and exhibitions that so nicely distinguish a well-established university town. There, as elsewhere in Italy, the amazing pizza and diverse aperitivi (drinks and finger-food buffet) made food a highlight of the trip.

Upon our return to Spain, I reflected on the whirlwind of language, food, culture, and environments that we encountered in our travel. It was a challenge to sort through the chaos of impressions left by such an intense experience, containing as it did 4 countries, 3 languages, and over 45 hours of transportation in its different forms (plane, train, taxi, bus, car, tram, ferry) in the space of 2 weeks. Ultimately, as ever, I am left full of gratitude to be able to pursue such transient experience and to appreciate the people, food, surroundings, and thoughts that I encounter along the way. And again, the excitement of being surrounded by a new language and working to expand my mastery of a few basic phrases only deepens my desire for new languages. After 11 days of this intensity, the familiarity and rhythms of my relatively settled life here in Spain seem almost surreal in their normalcy. But, as always, there is a job to do and a life to live upon any return, and so I do my best to turn my mind back to that world even as this experience remains large in my thoughts.

Ramble in Morocco (Travel blog vol. 2)

2009-12-14T16:05:00.005+01:00

My most recent vagabond travel undertaking was an independent and somewhat haphazard voyage across the strait to Africa. A group of 2 boys and 3 girls, none speaking the national languages of French and Arabic, we nonetheless set off for Morocco with no hotel reservations, guides, maps, or concrete plans. We had a 5 day weekend, 4 cities in mind, and a lot of faith in the mantra that fate favors those who trust it. From the port city of Algeciras, we ferried over the Mediterranean to our first destination, the morning sun-washed city of Tangier. A cultural, artistic, and geographical crossroads, Tangier greeted us with the bustle and clamor of its port and the resident hangers-on. Once deeper into the city, however, we discovered the quiet beauty of the city with the help of an unofficial guide named Mustafa. He led us through the ancient winding streets of the hilltop medina and Casbah, or castle complex, where such mystical historical figures as Marlon Brando, Jimi Hendrix, and Bon Jovi have lived. Already pleasantly surprised by our relative good fortune thus far, we began the next stage of our journey in the company of new friends.

Thanks to the travel networking site CouchSurfing, we met up with 2 Moroccans who hosted us in their small coastal town of Assilah. In addition to a free place to stay, they also offered us a local’s view of the city, complete with conversations about Islamic culture and Arab youth as well as a tour of the seaside medina. Later, we had the unforgettable experience of riding on a flat 2-wheeled horse-drawn cart along busy highways and across rolling fields to a beautiful secluded beach (Paradise beach, in fact) set among high coastal bluffs. That night, we had the unique and incredible opportunity to go to a traditional Arab bath house located behind an unmarked dour at the end of a dark alley in the medina. The baths consisted of a dressing room, warm buffer room, and a completely tiled steam room where we washed ourselves with buckets of hot water from a continuously refilling reservoir. Morocco was surprisingly cold, especially at night, and the deep warmth of 2 ½ hours in a steam room was a welcome change.

Most excitingly, we had the chance to receive a traditional Hamman massage from the best masseuse in town. The wiry middle-aged Moroccan joined us in the steam room and proceeded to blow our minds with his strength and endurance as he conducted intense full body massages for 7 people in a row. The massage itself was much more than a backrub, and involved yoga-like stretch positions, synchronized inversions, and insane twists and lifts. The masseuse used his body as a tool for opening up our joints and muscles, and the heat, echoing noise, and rhythmic breathing made me lose all sense of relative time or space or position during the intense 15 minutes that I was under his control. The refreshing clean and physical vitality that I felt afterwards stayed with me for days.

From Assilah, we took a train to the bigger city of Fez, overcoming language barriers and transportation setback along the way. With less than 24 hours in the most important city in Morocco (culturally and historically speaking), we made the most of our time. We stayed in a hostel in the heart of the medina, and got a tour from a couple of American Fulbright scholars staying in Fez. They showed us the crowded main streets, winding alleys, markets and mosques of the medina, as well as the un-touristed residential neighborhoods that they had explored. Fez’s medina is the largest intact medieval Arab city, as well as the epicenter of Islamic philosophy and religion for much of its history. The hum of life there, of people and commerce and spirituality, was intoxicating and overwhelming, packed as it was into Fez’s warren of narrow streets and covered alleys.

Our last destination was the small mountain town of Chefchaouen, where we had barely 18 hours to enjoy one of the most beautiful towns I have ever seen. Built against the side of a mountain and on the edge of a wilderness preserve, Chaouen’s steep streets led to wall after wall of every shade of blue, with blue doors set in them. Known as the “blue city,” Chaouen’s mosaic of whitewashed and painted streets, alleys, and doorsteps made for a mystical ambiance, somewhere between a traditional pueblo blanco of Andalucia and the extraterrestrial feel of rounded buildings and streets that seemed carved out of the mountain. While our haphazard itinerary actually worked out, and we visited all the towns we aimed for and even made (barely) our ferry on time, I seriously regret that we had so little time in this town.

So, 4 nights and 5 days of vagabond travel in Morocco came to an end with a strange blend of satisfaction with the wonders of the experience, gratitude for our good fortune, physical fatigue from the intensity of the trip, and an aching wish that the amazing trip did not have to end. The beauty of the landscape and cities of Morocco amazed me, as it did when I went there with a tour group in the past. The deepest impression, however, was left by the Moroccan people. Their generosity, positivity, and openness, contrary to their common reputation in Europe, repeatedly moved me. Their devotion, to God and Islam and family and health and traditions, was readily apparent. Their patience, too, with poverty and hardship and each other, was a marked contrast to American attitudes. Finally, the single quality that I admired the most and wish was not so alien to Western culture: humility, before people and life and God. It is often preached, and rarely practiced, but I saw it in the faces and actions and words of the Moroccans I encountered, and it refreshed and inspired me. I consider myself incredibly lucky to be able to have such an experience, to be blessed with such luck and good times, but the return to normal life only makes such journeys seem even more surreal.

The Travel Blog (vol. 1)

2009-12-14T15:56:00.004+01:00

My blog promises, in addition to my rambling opinion writing, some accounts of the travel I undertake while I am here. So, I present the following...

One of the perks of my job is the time commitment. Not only is the program a manageable 8 months, but the hours are light and all contained in a four day work week. So, I go to school Monday through Thursday, teaching until 2 each day and tutoring later in the afternoon to fill time and make money for travel. Coincidentally, free Fridays make every weekend a long one, a potential foundation for a trip of some moderate variety. Many of these weekend trips are regional jaunts to some Andalucían city or other. If you were to pinpoint my location on a map (Motril, Spain), you would notice several things about its geographical situation, including: 1. It is on the Mediterranean Sea (which I can see from my balcony and bedroom window) and 2. It is situated at the base of the Sierra Nevada range, which contains continental Spain’s highest mountain (in the course of an afternoon jog, I can look down on the sunny Mediterranean and a few strides later look up at snow-capped peaks).

In addition to its interesting physical geography, Motril is also well-situated relative to other cities. The closest, and the capital of the province, is Granada. I’ve visited Granada a handful of times, for single days as well as whole weekends, and have really enjoyed the contrast of its international cosmopolitan feel with Motril’s small-town ambiance. Granada has one of Spain’s biggest and oldest universities, with a huge student presence and youthful energy to match. The city’s cultural significance, as the last Moorish stronghold in Spain and the home of the famed Alhambra, combines with its physical beauty to make it a highly-touristed place as well as a haven for Spain’s counterculture. Simultaneously Bohemian, hippy, and traditional, Granada is a melting pot of historical and contemporary cultures, and a fascinating place to have only an hour to the north. My other frequented destination is the port city of Malaga, the southern coast’s biggest. My girlfriend Jasmina lives there, teaching, which is reason enough to visit, but the city also has some appeal in and of itself. Thoroughly modern, Malaga is one of the tourism and fashion capitals of Spain. The hometown of Picasso, Malaga now boasts its own Picasso museum, the centerpiece of a robust arts and cultural scene. Other destinations in Andalucia have included a school field trip to the Sierra Nevada and a day trip to the British enclave and rock of Gibraltar (full of monkeys, see pictures for a thousand words).

There have also been more ambitious travels. The first, in early October, was a 5 day jaunt to Portugal. Taking advantage of an especially long weekend, I rented a car and drove across the Peninsula with some friends, enjoying the Iberian countryside and the nice roads as we zipped along. Our first stop was the beach town of Lagos, on Portugal’s southern coast, home to the cliff-backed beaches, grottoes, and bluffs that characterize the Algarve region. We even made it to the town of Sagres, perched on the Southwestern-most tip of the European continent, and once thought to be the end of the world. Continuing our four-wheeled adventure, I drove up the coast to Lisbon, where we navigated through what was easily the most challenging traffic and streets I have ever encountered (imagine New York City drivers in European streets). But we were able to enjoy the magic of the Portuguese capital, the most underrated in Europe. Colored stone buildings and cobble-stoned streets, combined with trolley cars climbing hills that look out over the broad Tajo River, made Lisbon feel like a cross between San Francisco and Madrid. Getting by on a mix of our Spanish and the limited Portuguese of our Africa-bound visitor Andrew Magill, we were able to deeply and fully enjoy the charming beauty and excitement of Spain’s closest neighbor.

Coming very soon... Morocco

Youth and Apathy in these modern times

2009-11-27T18:38:00.004+01:00

Every generation changes the face of its society. Even so, the worldwide youth of today seem to be breaking with their respective traditions. This is as true in Spain as anywhere else. The two socio-political worldviews I laid out in the last post, socially conscious romanticism versus traditional conservatism, are both under siege from arguably the most potent mindset of them all: apathy. I say potent because apathy has the power of prevention, the power to preclude other mindsets or opinions by preemptively rendering them uncool, pointless, unworthy of attention.

Apathy, of course, is generally a reaction and not a state of equilibrium. Nothing exists in a vacuum, and a vacuum would be necessary for apathy to exist of its own volition. Rather, apathy comes about through a combination of disillusionment and overstimulation. The disillusionment, almost always, is with politics, the economic status quo, the established social and cultural traditions, or some other vestige of the “system.” Unfortunately, however, those who choose to show their dissatisfaction with any status quo by pretending to ignore it are merely feeding back into the cycle that they vainly distance themselves from. I can think of no historical example of a situation where widespread apathy was a primary cause of improvement.

Yet this is, in many ways, our generation’s defining struggle. We exist in something of a dichotomy, where our overexposure to politics either motivates us to form and advocate opinions or makes us shrug our shoulders in disgust. Simultaneously, the rampant overstimulation of today’s Western youth camouflages a choice between access (to information, to other people and ideas, to causes and organizations and cultures) and mere entertainment. And, once again, it is all too easy to choose entertainment, to slip smoothly into a cycle of stimuli that never produce a substantial or original reaction. So, I would argue, apathy is not self-sustaining phenomenon, but rather a product of individual and group reactions to an existing system.

In this sense, Spanish youth have caught on fast. Only 30 years into democratic politics, they are already tired of politicians. The parties are the basically the same, all the good parties are outlawed, none of it affects us anyways… the responses are the same in Spain as in the U.S. And those are from the people who even feel the need to explain why politics doesn’t interest them. The real “silent majority” are the people who absorb political news and world events the same way they absorb music, never really processing it or incorporating it into their lifestyle, opinions, or actions.

Despite this negative social commentary, there is something to be said for what the youth –apathetic or otherwise- does best: having fun. And, in the pursuit of fun (in the general sense), young people have a knack for breaking existing social barriers. So it is that everyday humor, whether crude or enlightened, can mask insightful social commentary or reveal actual cultural transformation. In the United States, humor belittling oneself, one’s country, or anything in between has long been the mainstream. In Spain, young people have a similarly iconoclastic irreverence for traditional aspects of Spanish identity or culture. Part of this is the result of the cosmopolitan cultural modernism that pervades Europe today, but part is simple self-deprecating humor on the part of young Spaniards.

Machismo, a very real part of Spain’s (and the rest of the Latin world’s) traditional character, is the target of humor as well as social policy initiatives (to be discussed in another post). The phrase “Macho Iberico,” is traditionally reserved for the toughest and manliest of Spanish men: the bullfighters, the futbolistas, the power brokers. Now, it is jokingly used to compliment a well-executed pour out of a wineskin (proffered by a friendly bartender), held at arm’s length to allow the trajectory of sweet and strong vino fino to arc through the crowded tapas bar and fill the pourer’s mouth without spilling a drop, to shouts of approval. If you guessed that this description is autobiographical and that I am a natural with a wineskin, you were correct (they asked me if I learned it from reading Hemingway). The ironic label of “macho iberico” also comes up in discussions of chest hair amongst twenty-somethings and comparisons of sandwich size between school children, among other situations.

As with any country’s generation of young people, Spanish youth have a façade of coolness, complete with loud music, motos and fast cars, name brand clothing, drugs and alcohol. And, as is true anywhere else, the combination of coolness and apathy can be downright toxic if it becomes the dominant norm for a country’s young people. Also prevalent among my Spanish peers, however, along with the humor, the fun, and the coolness façade, is a strong movement towards higher education, multilingualism, personalized careers, and internationalism. This highly motivated side of this generation here, inevitably, competes and contrasts with the apathy discussed above. It remains to be seen, therefore, what the outcome and impact of today’s Spanish youth will be. In the meantime, they are busy just living.

The paradox of Spanish Society: a Brief History

2009-11-15T16:17:00.004+01:00

Spanish society is something of a paradox, a product of contrasting and sometimes conflicting tendencies and currents. Spain’s history, in the long term, is one of alternating religious toleration and confrontation between Christian and Moorish cultures. In the modern era, Spain’s history is usually described using words like “hierarchical,” “traditional,” “conservative,” and even “repressive.” And this, indeed, is the legacy of Spanish colonialism in Latin America, an era remembered for its political oppression, social hierarchy, labor exploitation, and indigenous subjugation. Most devotees of Latin American politics or history would begin –and end– any discussion of contemporary social or political issues by connecting the region’s cyclical history –of racial exclusion, social upheaval, political instability, and socioeconomic inequality– back to its roots in Spanish colonialism. And while Latin American society and politics today are acquiring an increasingly indigenous –or at least American (in the continental sense, not related to the good ole USofA)– identity, the themes of religious influence, social hierarchy, and political authoritarianism are still strongly rooted in the Spanish tradition.

Spain itself spent most of the 20th century under the authoritarian Franco regime, following the political polarization and subsequent civil war of the 1930s. Franquismo (Franco-ism), the social and political doctrine of the general and dictator, envisioned and enforced a Spanish society that was Catholic, socially conservative, culturally traditional, and politically hostile to the threats of modernity. That modernity, however, was inevitable for Spain, a country that has always been at the geographical crossroads and socio-political mainstream of contemporary Western history.

When Franco died in 1975, the current King Juan Carlos, Franco’s protégé at the time, came into power. In one of the most remarkable transformations of the modern political era, Juan Carlos chose a path of political openness and fully democratic elections were held within 3 years. Spain quickly joined the ranks of Western Europe’s capitalist democracies, though the scars of the Franco years are slow to heal. In large part due to Juan Carlos’ reconciliatory, forward-looking approach, the Spanish government has only recently sponsored historical truth commissions and opened investigations into human rights violations and political crimes committed under the Franco regime. Franco still represents, for much of Spain, the traditional nationalism and the conservative Catholic family values that have always been central to Spanish society and identity. In more ways than one, Spain’s history is still very much alive in its present, more so than in the rest of Western Europe (in my humble opinion).

So, while Spain’s historical character has often been dominated by its traditional conservatism, there has also emerged an increasingly prominent array of progressive social currents. Spain, like Latin America, has two diametrically opposed socio-political worldviews. One is the traditional –often reactionary- conservatism described above, which has long sustained the legitimacy of the monarchy and the influence of the Church, as well as the family-based social model, but which is also responsible for traditional social hierarchy and authoritarian political repression.

The other is a unique combination of emotive romanticism and leftist social theory, resulting in a sort of romantic socialism that seeks (among other things) equality between men, political betterment, and social harmony. This fundamentally optimistic worldview –a genuine and popularly held belief that individual actions can improve humanity (leaving for later a discussion of similar thinking in the US)– has spawned Latin America’s countless revolutionary movements, inspires several current regional leaders (see: Morales in Bolivia), and has always been the “push” to Latin traditionalism’s “pull”. In 1930s Spain, an elected government actually formed a legitimately democratic Communist republic, only to have the pendulum swing back right with the civil war and the Franco years.

In today’s Spain, progressive currents are again the mainstream, from government spending on education and social initiatives (to be discussed later) to a thoroughly modern youth culture and nightlife (definitely to be discussed). Please pardon the social science-y historical overview, I hope this entry will provide worthwhile background for a more personal discussion of life in Spain in future posts.

Some kind of start on "the road of life"

2009-11-09T16:55:00.001+01:00

Just over a month into my time here in Spain, I am still deciding on what direction to go with this much-delayed blog. I want friends and family to be able to keep up with my life here to some extent, but I would like these posts to contain more than just personal updates. At the same time, I lack a coherent project or subject to follow and report on, such as the domestic political situation in Bolivia when I was researching there last summer. So, I will begin this blog from the standpoint of a recently graduated college student who, after falling just short of two other jobs in the U.S., shipped himself off to Spain to teach English for a year.

The “year” is actually an 8 month school year, October-May, as part of the Spanish government’s bilingual education program. My title is "Auxiliar de conversacion," or "Foreign Language and Cultural Assistant," and my employer is the Junta de Andalucia. I teach in a public primary school in the small coastal city of Motril, Granada province, in Andalucia. The school’s bilingual program is relatively well-developed, with most teachers speaking some basic English and science classes taught in Spanish and English, in addition to English language classes. The school even has a blog, where parents can read about class field trips or find class activities when their kids are out of school sick. It strikes me as a good and sensible tool for connecting parents to schools, one that U.S. educators and administrators would do well to learn from (especially considering the relative ease of access to internet for most American families, compared to Spain).

I teach grade levels 4, 5, and 6, which here means students from 7 to 10 years old. I’m lucky to have this age group, as they are perfectly situated between the crazy energy of young kids and the insecure coolness of pre-teens, young enough to be enthusiastic about learning but old enough to actually have (some) attention for it. And not a class goes by that doesn’t make me laugh out loud. My time in class is evenly split between English language, taught mostly with the same teacher, and Natural Science (or “knowledge of the medium/surroundings”, directly translated), a bilingual subject for which each lesson is taught in Spanish by another teacher and then in English by yours truly. Overall, relative to other auxiliaries (‘auxiliar’ is the official job title), I am fortunate in the amount of structure I have at my school, while still maintaining a fair amount of autonomy and independent planning and teaching.

I am also fortunate, considering the numerous horror stories regarding Spanish bureaucracy and late payments, to have received my first monthly salary. Which is to say, I have euros in the bank. It is a great feeling to be financially viable here, to be earning my keep, paying my way, making money and not just spending it, actually living and working in another country. While I won scholarships, took out loans, and worked a part time job to pay for rent and tuition at college, and could claim more self-sufficiency than most, what I feel here is something far beyond that. This current phase of living entails an entirely different level of self-sufficiency and independence, a life and the means for that life completely separate from any support structure, financial or otherwise, outside of what I create and/or carry with me.

I guess this is my version of the so-called ‘real world’ experience, that first job and living situation after college that is so dramatized in the minds of students. The interesting thing is that, while the responsibilities of a post-college life are more legitimate and serious in society’s eyes, they are not necessarily more burdensome or stressful. In fact, based on anecdotes and general impressions, I would venture that the stresses of a working graduate, while defined as more ‘real world’, are actually less intense and ubiquitous than in the daily life of an overextended college student. Concerns about the future -and of course the demands of rent, bills, and budgeting expenses- are still present, but they are generally more sensible and manageable than those of the everything-all-the-time mindset and lifestyle of college.

Perhaps most importantly, a job-holding graduate’s concerns lack the constant underlying doubts about individual purpose, the importance of ideas, personal independence, and the worthwhile-ness of the college experience in general. There is something grounding and legitimizing about having a clear day-to-day purpose, doing a job that is needed, and getting paid for it. It is basic, and simple, and refreshing after the big doubts and questions of college inherent in that mixing of pure fun, big ideas, constant work, moderate responsibilities, and individualism. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade my college experience for anything. And I also don’t consider my current job to be the most serious or invested job out there. I do, however, consider myself lucky to have any job at all in this dismal economic scene, especially a job so perfectly tailored to the interests and outlook of a recent college grad. And while this particular job is a far cry from a conventional career, there are still things about working and living independently (whether in Spain, the US, or anywhere else) that make college seem a world away.