Gutting Fish

The last day I spent in Almería, I had the lovely chore of gutting the calamari that we were to eat for lunch. I was given the choice to opt out, but I figured I had to try it at least once in my life. The experience proved to be similar to the snails I tried last week- fun and tasty, but I´d rather not repeat.

Warning: squirmish readers please skip to the next paragrah. For the interested calamari-gutting virgin, read on for a complete description on how it is to be done. First step: rinse off the icy calamari before the disection. Then, twist off the head in a pinching motion. Feel around within the head for a black ball similar to a peppercorn- the mouth apparently. Attached is a clear transparent thread that (used to) lead to the hungry fish's stomach. Remove both mouth and thread. Now, the eyes follow. This part involves more force and a wincing facial expression. Unfortunately, at one point my squinting eyes were squirted by the late George Calamari´s eye juice. My lungs inadvertently released a high-pitch squiel, that which the house cook Luisa couldn't help from chuckling. Now that the tiny octopus-like tentacles are removed, move to gut out the innards of the poor calamari. Fishing within him, mercilessly toss all the creamy white guts. Note: meanwhile this step my stomach was mercilessly turning. Lastly, feel for the tip of the spine. Break the brim of the flesh where the spine had met the head. Cautiously pull out the transparent thread and place what is left of George in the pan along with the rest of his friends.

Albeit that was an outlandish explanation, I have a point. I was discussing with my sister what we are going to leave behind in Spain and take home to California. One thing that I will be taking home is a different mentality. The calamari sitting on the plate is what I imagine my mind looks like. After seven months of getting lost, losing things, being helped by strangers, being lost in translation, observing unique communities, and having delicious conversations with beautiful people, my mind is raw and ready to be marinated.

From the Almeria train station

I won't be coming back with all of the answers to what I want to be and where I want to go; I will simply be coming back with a malleable yet healthy mindset of the possibilities. I have one year left at Berkeley, and after I graduate I will have to use an open mind to pave a unique path for Maggie Palmer. I didn't see how Luisa prepared the calamari after, but lunch was especially delicious that last day in Almería.

Back in the day...

Not many people visit Spain to go to Almería. It is difficult to get to, it is both mountainous and a desert, and the beach is sub-par. Yet, with a little change of perspective, you learn the good in the ugly. It is difficult to get to, so there are not too many tourists. Albeit the mountains are not lush and green like northern Spain, they make for a beautiful dusk and sunset by the beach. Finally, any beach is better than being landlocked in a hot muggy Spanish city in the middle of July. My director said that I can really say that I have traveled all of Spain because not many people make it out to Almería. That being said, I spent six precious weeks in a house with 5 kid ranging from the age 9 to 16. I also was a camp counselor for another 82 kids from the Molinos neighborhood in which the Casa Don Bosco was located. Here is Jesús and I dressed up as elfs one day for the fantasy-themed summer camp. Look closely and you will notice that I grew points on my ears overnight.


For the first weeks I was living my summer childhood- playing soccer with Cristian, braiding Martina's hair, going to the beach, and of course doing my daily chores around the house and helping in the kitchen. I pretty much was their summer doll that had a string in the back like Woody from Toy Story with a few catch phrases. Pull it once, and I say “Yes, I can play cards”. Pull it again, and I say “Oh the beach sounds great!”. Pull it a third time, and I say “Ok I need to take a nap.” Are you catching my drift? It was fun and entertaining and everytime I went to bed exhausted after a hard day's play, just as if I was back in Brea, California on Waterfall Lane and I had a playdate with Kristen and Elizabeth everyday. It was a lot different from a summer in Berkeley, that is for sure. Here is Martina and one of the many braid hair-do's I gave her.

Martina, Sandra, and I on a post-dinner walk:



Dishes, many many dishes:




The next three weeks I changed rolls and jumped back into being a young adult with a balance of disciplining and entertaining snotty, sweaty, and adorably cute Spanish niños and niñas. In Spanish, there is a special conjugation for commands. In the first few days of camp, I caught the most important commands and I saw how powerful they were. It was like magic the way they obeyed. Ok, well, most of the time it worked for a handful of the kids. The other handful of 4 to 15-year-olds had another agenda; I remembered how hyper-active I was in my childhood and felt an urge to apologize to my parents. The counselors got revenge on the night of the haunted house where we were able to draw some screams and pleads to "Let me out!...mama". Unintentionally, we also had a few kids brought to tears. All in all, by the end of three weeks, the kids wanted a safe place to play with friends and that is what we were able to provide. Mission Almería: complete.





Crafts:




Mila's birthday cake; the photo-on-cake style is very much so fashionable in Almería:



Pictures of the dressed-up counselors for the haunted house; I even scare myself:





Drumming act at the final fiesta:



Last and great night together; Mila and I having a great laugh: