A swift decision

I was sitting on the patio of a bar the other day, and I heard the crystal clear Dolby 5.1 point surround sound SMASH of glass meeting stone. This made me think of the night before in a bar, where I heard the exact same sound in another bar, but probably 4 or 5 times. Then I thought about a lot of other bars every day where this happens. I then turned to my Spanish room mate, and told him that it was an obvious fact that Spanish people broke more glass than Americans. He immediately took to his guns and defended his kind, saying that Americans easily broke as many glasses as Spaniards. I was enjoying myself thoroughly as the argument was ridiculously ludicrous, and he was becoming increasingly defensive.

Long story short, they break more glass, case in point.

Laborers in Logroño

I can be quite sure that I've poked fun at the labor system in Spain - 1 man working 2 men watching... That one. Well, you would think that with 2 "highly qualified" supervisors to watch one man working while they "take care" of the situation, that things shouldn't really go awry. Right? Wrong.

Marta and I were sitting calmly on a bench on the main street in Logroño the other day, enjoying the beautiful sunny weather that was having my roll my sleeves up to ward off agricultural workers tan. The facades of the two buildings in front of us were under "obras" or repairs, and were outfitted with an exoskeleton of metal supports that allowed for a gigantic pneumatic lift to be installed for the workers to do their best. It looked professional.. Now, I'm a fairly high-strung guy right? While maybe it would seem impolite to not have my eyes trained on her, but mid-story it was worth the distraction as I looked up randomly, and saw a 5 foot steel pole fly off of the lift from 8 stories up, towards us. Being a master of physics, I knew that it was not going to hit us, but was worried about a streetlight next to us. The pole was possibly going to interact with it, and then inexplicably bounce of at any angle and with wild "Final Destination" characteristics set to maim. I grabbed Marta and moved over on the bench, watching as the pole slammed into the ground about 1.5 yards from us, bounced up, and landed in the grass next to us.

You would think that the workers would have yelled HEADS UP, or something like that in Spanish, but I can safely say that at least 4  seconds passed until they peeked their heads over the edge of the lift to see what had even happened. No one was hurt, but we were jostled a bit by it, and some frantic Spanish women walking next to us came and professed their fear to us. Lesson learned, don't sit on benches next to any form of construction.

learned habits

In the United States I ate hamburgers... more than I should have. In Spain I eat tons of big chocolaty cookies and Serrano ham....more than I should. Which of these is worse?

remembering how to forget

One day while listening to an NPR interview with a singer in a band from Reedsville who was talking about returning to his small tobacco-fueled town after being out on the road, and how he saw the small town mindset in a new light when compared to the many other places he had been and people he had met, I found a way to relate to him and feel more comfortable back home. The singer never held disdain for his fathers' racist, one track mind, nor repugnance for the open land instead of a cityscape, but rather a willingness to help his father see the value of change and acceptance, and respecting and enjoying the country life.

*Direct correlations to my father, tobacco or racism, are in no way personally related with me.

After returning to the U.S., I felt like calling people, making a plan, and expecting to meet them at the prearranged time and place was practical enough, and as it turns out, it was. I was still able to spend plenty of time with all my homies without having a phone, and borrowing the teeniest car ever (the smart car) from my dad. However, the evident reality of how necessary driving was when all I wanted to do was go to the grocery, or to meet a friend for a drink, was rubbing me the wrong way as I saw it through new eyes.

Many aspects of our culture as Americans can be seen in the vast size of our country. With so much free space for our ancestor escaping oppression in foreign lands, the idea of having something to call your own, and making it your own, has trickled down from generation to generation. Diluted along the way, many aspects of "free, open" space is viable to the willing observer every day. Big roads, big cars, "personal space", front yards, back yards, everything that we love and are proud of, and even take for granted, are things that you don't necessarily have everywhere else. I remember telling someone in Spain that I was about to mow the lawn, and had never heard someone laugh so hysterically, until I told them that it was a rider mower, and then I could say that I'd heard someone laugh even more so as such.

Thinking about the pictures of highways and cars that I'd shown my students in Spain, and then seeing them in person after being away, was definitely interesting and educational. It's was really quite a strange change.
¿No?
Now I'm back to small cars, smaller roads, no yards, walking & biking everywhere, having shops in the bottom of the building I live in, and generally a more practical and day-to-day style of life. Who's in for vacation?

Emerald Isle - I heart you

Since the day I was born, I have been subjected to annual trips to North Carolina shores during the first week of August. This year is no exception, but is much more nostalgic than before as I haven't even seen North Carolina for almost a year. The crashing waves and salty air are always the first to greet you as you cross the bridge to Emerald Isle and Morehead City, and there is almost nothing else I would love to be greeted by, ever.

On the way to the beach, my family and I also stop to see my uncles, have lunch, and walk around their farm before finishing the last leg of the drive to the coast. They have 2 beautiful horses, 2 insanely cute new dogs, a bevy of fruit and nut producing trees, grapevines, and an in-home theater - we always enjoy ourselves, to say the least. The perennial courtesy showed to us in their home makes the hour + lunch and farm tour a great opportunity to see family, rest our legs, and catch up on things.

I've made a pact with the devil that after arriving to any beach - I must enter the water within the first 30 minutes of being there. This being said, after pulling into the house, unpacking the car, I did just that. The water was more-or-less luke warm, and placid as a pond. I'd have preferred waves, but it was nice to feel the salty water hold my body calmly and aimlessly float about. The oceanfront is such a mesmerizing place. I find myself staring out into the deep, watching the waves crash, and thinking of nothing, and everything, all at the same time. Between the snow and the sea, I couldn't tell you which I enjoy more, but they both have a captivating hold over me that possibly is on par with transcendental meditation, or something crazy like that. 

Chub in the tub

While I am realistically underweight, the excess grasa that has developed around the old "love handles" and its surrounding extremities has become something steadily bulging out of control.

The heavy amount of drinking (until 6.am.), and eating of generally delicious (aka - fatty) foods in Spain set me up for disaster during my summer in the U.S.A. These activities were relatively inconsequential in Spain because walking and biking were my modes of transportation. The baneful idea of exercise has now changed from the relatively painless, and necessary, simple transportation, to that monster in the hillside... planned exercise. Time must be set solely to ensure the effective breakdown of whatever insanely appetizing foods i've eaten.

Speaking of those, ever since the glorious celebration of our country's independence struck, I decided to accelerate my consumption of hamburgers and hot-dogs. Within that fatal week, I believe records could prove that I ate at least 7 hamburgers and 4 hot-dogs, all accompanied with slaw and cheese. Of course while traveling, fast food fills the newly chubby, yet empty, stomach of yours truly. I even tried to order something less appetizing, such as a grilled chicken breast instead of a fried one, no mayo instead of the normal heaping slabs, and water in place of sugary sodas. No fast food is going to help. I need to turn into a rabbit, or implement "la dieta de la cucaracha".

* I promise that I am not about to attempt to sell you a Tony Little's Gazelle Air Walker.*

I am about to get some headbands and running shoes, and kick this panzon in, well, the stomach..

The price of Gasoline

I am just now emerging from the murky depths of jet-lag, but am still finding myself confronted with a strangely comfortable discomfort each day. I remember experiencing this three years ago, when I arrived in Madrid for my summer studies, and find it interesting, yet awful, at the same time. Being in Winston-Salem, for the first time in a year, is rather strange.

Before leaving Spain, my parents came to visit me in Logrono. We made swift travels around the north and middle of the country in our rented Peugot 207. Within the short span of 6 days, we hit Logroño, Burgos, Bilbao, San Sebastian, Santo Domingo, Haro, Segovia, and Toledo. Spain is what we would like to think of as a small place, since it is NOT the United States, but it is really quite large, and covering as much ground as we did in such short time was quite taxing. The car was fun to drive, and the countryside was simply amazing. I was ecstatic to have the opportunity to first-handedly show Nancy and George around  the country where I'd been living, and to get to know other parts of the country that I had not yet seen.

Now, Winston-Salem has swallowed me whole, and I am back into the 336. It is odd. There are so many nuances that I never took note of before leaving for such an extended period of time, and that no one could notice without leaving NC for so long. It is difficult to describe, but easy to note. It is some form of learned scrutinization of culture. I'm unsure how or why I find myself constantly analyzing everyday situations as if they are brand new experiences, but I do so with a different eye. I enjoy it.
I did it over there as well.
It is good to be home.