Maggie, like the Simpsons

When Spaniards cannot understand my name, I just add in this line after they have attempted to repeat Maggie several times. MaGGie, like the simpsons. Immediately following, a familiar dawning expression spreads across their face and they chuckle. This phrase is so relevant that Martina, my new best friend in Almeria, an 11-year-old girl, began calling me Lisa (Maggie's older sister in the series) by mistake. In truth, I have maybe seen one episode; I hope this other Maggie is giving me a good impression. I think it says something about the transfer of culture and how one additional word can cue a connection across seas. Maggie, like the simpsons: speaks for itself really.

Eggplants and Gatos

My impression of Spain is forever-evolving with every new day, with every person I meet and community I encounter. From my arrival in Madrid with a smooth-talking taxi driver to the Spanish nun Pura who doesn't have a lot to say but makes some great one-liners and delicious gazpacho. Here is dry Pura being attacked by wet Sergio during a water fight...

Similarly my impressions of eggplants and cats have evolved as well. I love the vegetable eggplant for its color and adaptability to any dish. Really it is a difficult vegetable to cook, so when I find recipes that work for it, I get very excited. The Spanish-version of eggplant that I enjoy is beregena rellena (filled-eggplant). Rosa, my host-mom in Madrid, made this plate frequently for Bianca and I; I always loved it. Here at my volunteer service in Almeria, we have a lot of eggplant. After peeling over 50 eggplants, after my right hand turned brownish-purple from the peel, my perspective have changed. Eggplant and I, we now have a love-hate relationship. Love to eat it, hate to peel it.

As for cats, well I don´t like them in general. Yet there are two little kittens that live on the edges of our house here in Almeria, who have found little hearths. Mostly they hang out observing from an exterior wall and run away when Christian, 9-years-old, tries to approach them. I have taken a liking to these cats because I relate them to my position here in Casa Don Bosco in the city of Almeria, province of Andalucia, country of Spain, continent Europe- miles and miles away from California. Because of a slight language barrier, I am like a cat here. I observe a lot. I look different and don't say a lot, thus on the exterior. I catch on to what is going on but I don´t have much response. And when groups of Spaniards approach me suddenly talking really fast with thick accents, I run away. Not literally, but that is a funny image.

I´m being dramatic, but all I have to say is that it is it is easy to put a tag on someone or something from a first-impression. It is harder to break that perspective, yet with an open mind it can be done. Honk for world peace!

Surfing, Couchsurfing

I will say it again, I am a Californian that has never been surfing. Quite a shame. Yet I have been metro surfing and most recently Couchsurfing for the first time. Couchsurfing is this really cool interchange website for travelers where you can search for people wherever you are visiting and either bum a night on their couch or just have a cup of coffee. Well the main attraction for travelers is that it offers a free couch, provided that you extend a good impression on your host via couchsurfing messaging. Here is the website to check it out for further information: www.couchsurfing.org

Anyways, my cousin Beth came to visit my sister and I in Sevilla. We took the weekend to go to Lisbon, Portugal and found a very nice guy to host us for three nights in a beach town 20 minutes outside of the city. Complete with live and authentic fado music (traditional to Portugal), a castle with a terrific view and some feisty peacocks, and plenty of beautiful balconies in the hilly city, us three relatives had a great time.

We were skeptical at first how the experience would go, but it turned out to be a great way to see a big city without having to get lost every ten minutes. More than that, it was an invaluable exchange of culture where we were able to learn more about Portugal and discuss the differences between theirs and ours.

I love these kind of things. In Germany when I was visiting my good friend Anne, we had a dinner with two german guys, a French couchsurfing girl, and three Berkeleyans. Another night to remember, here is a photo that expresses my contentment

Goes to show how genial it is to meet new people from around the world.

[Body] Language

I have encountered many people on my travels through Europe for the past few months. The fact that not everybody speaks perfect English or Spanish (myself included), makes for some great conversations filled with hand-motions and repetition and guessing. There are universal motions for taking a picture, for saying 'excuse me' and 'thank you', as well as showing anger. Even if you are spoken to in a different language, tonal clues and facial expressions clearly express whether someone is hitting on you or trying to tell you a car is coming and you better move.

I was thinking about language barriers this Pentecost weekend as I attended mass in the mountains on the local parish excursion. Whether or not my reader is religious, the biblical story behind Pentecost is prevalent today for the global world. Pretty much, the Holy Spirit came down from the heavens to give the disciples courage to spread Jesus' message of love around the world. The disciples found themselves able to communicate to everybody around the world this message of love. Who knows if they actually were able to speak in 6,500 different languages (the so-called count as of 1996) or if they were just able to communicate through a more powerful method: that of actions. And that's true today, albeit many people know basic English, I have found a lot of people understand the language of love even better.

In the first month in Madrid, I was having a hard time practicing my Spanish enough. I spoke Spanish at home with the lady I lived with, Rosa. But my classes were with Americans, and mostly Californians. That's cool and all, but I needed some Spanish friends. Well I emailed the director and she connected me with a Spanish student that was looking to practice her English. Laura and I had a great time talking about not much and switching back and forth between our two native tongues. A few times when I would be explaining something and she would get lost, or visa-versa, we just laughed it off. We had a few great double dates with Meeka and Nerea too- picture below. Quite a cuatro, I must say:


Other situations have arouse as well, from carrying a dog down metro stairs, to having a police escort from one town to the next. A more difficult situation was getting directions in Athens to a hostel. Picture Spanish-speaking Californians intending to interpret an Italian-speaking Greek man. Somehow it worked.

The most propelling 'lost in translation' experience was in Southern France with my parents and my sister. We were on our way from Lourdes in southern France to a beach town in Spain (Salou, just below Barcelona). We had a heavy 8 hour drive ahead of us. Two hours in, we were stalled because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named put the wrong gasoline in our rental car at a gas station outside of Toulousse. Fortunately, we found someone to help us at the gas station, but our young towman didn't speak any English. Neither did anybody at the relatively-nearby mechanic shop. Somehow we were able to communicate three vital things: how to pay, how to get back to the freeway, and how grateful we were for their help. It was quite entertaining watching my dad in the front seat of the pick-up truck trying to communicate with the French man with gestures and expressions. Though the French man didn't understand anything, I think he got the point that my dad felt quite silly about the whole thing. Here's some body language for ya:





I have learned that hugs and smiles can mean more than anything I can say in English or Spanish. I have just arrived in Sevilla a couple weeks ago. In southern Spain, their dialect of Spanish is completely different. They 'swallow' the 's' and drop the end of words. I could go on and on about the slight differences, but you'll just have to wait until I get back to California to hear it all. But in the first weeks here, I found that smiles and kisses on both cheeks made up for my awkward accent and long-winded responses. Another challenge is teaching Spanish to French-speaking immigrants, which is especially difficult when you are not fluent yourself. Really, what I'd like to say, is that as silly as I can feel speaking with Spanish kids in the classroom, with immigrants that can't catch my accent, and with nuns with thick Andalusian accents, we are all communicating in one language, that of love.

Last thing: The 94-year-old nun, Sister Angustia tells some great stories. I can't always understand her, but her smile and excitement in her eyes makes me laugh at her jokes even when I don't know what she said. I find myself doing that all too frequently. With that said, cheers to [body] language!

Futbol, how I miss you

It's quite an ironic statement to make, as I am in Europe where football/soccer is more popular than, well, everything. I came to Spain with the intention of playing everyday but that hasn't quite happened.

In Madrid, my friend and fellow football-lover told me of a cool field in the middle of my favorite park. We decided to see if we could find a pick-up game to join in. As two girls, we are used to being welcomed with only a slight hesitation into a pick-up game if we are playing at Underhill in Berkeley. But this time was the contrast- the french men said their numbers were already enough and they had no room for us. It was clearly an excuse to avoid having two girls play with them.

That was my first lesson about football in Spain- the game is more important than girls. The next lesson I learned was with a conversation with a Northern Spain gentleman who tactfully told me that the only girls on his co-ed football team were not straight. Football in Europe is equivalent to American football; it's a man's game. For the past few months I have seen football games all over Spain and Europe; rarely do I see a girl playing. It's not that girls can't play, they just don't do so very often. The above, combined with traveling and other distractions, has made a ball a distant, long-lost friend to my left foot. The last time I went this long without playing soccer was when I was recovering from my knee surgery. This time, not as painful.

I am not complaining because what my life has lacked in football, I have made up in dancing, an equally important element in my life. I have finished my semester in Madrid and I traveled Europe for a month (including two crazy weeks with my parents). So finally I arrive in Sevilla, beginning my summer volunteer program. And guess what? At night from my window, I have a great view of a summer football league. With the fresh air and after a hard day's work, it's a great place to look up to the moon, look down to the cement-field, and wind down with a cup of tea...to an intense, enthralling football game. This field is at the end of the neighborhood, on the side of the freeway, and my window has the best view.

It's a bitter-sweet injection of soccer adrenaline for me, because I find it very peaceful to watch, but it also makes my feet itch to play. Then again, these guys are really good, and I am sure I am pretty rusty at this point. For now, I am enjoying the view of the unsuspecting football field at the end of Vasco de Gama Street, even if the games endure way past my bedtime and I have to wear earplugs to drown out the noise.

These are a few of my favorite things: Madrid edition

So this is my post-Madrid post that should have gone up immediately after my semester ended. Anyways, with inspiration from the Sound of Music, these are a few of my favorite things [in Madrid]:

1. Running in Retiro park throughout the semester and seeing the trees become more volumptous with leaves, in particular the jasmin-blossom grove when they fell delicately on the ground below.

2. Greeting people with kisses on both cheeks.

3. The impeccable, and inspirational, Spanish wardrobe. Even the babies were stylish.

4. Tapas and the environment at El Tigre, for now I can at least appreciate the ham that all the Spaniards go loco for.

5. Beregenas relleno, a filled eggplant dish that Rosa my host-mom cooked for us frequently, complete with a Spanish dose of olive oil.

6. My intercambio Laura and our fun Thursday lunch conversations, spending most of it talking about one meaning of a Spanish or English word or joking about talking backpacks; inevitably I would walk in late to my language class after losing track of time.

7. Visiting friends who are studying abroad as well and seeing them in their new environment and seeing how they live- so real.

8. Dancing at discotecas and being certain the following songs will come on:
-Shakira: La Tortura
-Don Omar: Danza Kuduro
-Edward Maya: Stereo Love
-Pitbull: the Anthem
-David Guetta: Who´s that chick
-DJ Kicky: Papa Americano
-Black Eyed Peas: The Time
-Stromae: Alors on Danse

9. El Son salsa club! The best way to improve your Spanish as well as learn some great moves from some Columbian and Puerto Ricans.

10. Plaza del Sol and its newest look, as young adults peacefully demonstrated their need for job opportunities in the poor Spanish economy. Check out these pictures: (soon to come)

You know, Madrid, it´s been real. I know it was a brief 3 or 4 months, but they were really awesome. You will always hold a special place in my heart, especially your magnificent park. It´s not you, it´s me. In the words of the great Lelia Richardson-Diltz, my previous summer´s camp director, mooooovin on...to Sevilla!

Madrid Media Maraton

You might think that I am lying to myself, but it was actually really fun! Once I got past the initial shock that the course was mostly uphill and that even though my legs felt like rocks by kilometer 9, I realized that I was really enjoying myself.

I've found here in Madrid that I am like a moth to light or a Spaniard to ham, when it comes to festivals and lots of people in one location. Whether it is a smokey discoteca, a fallas festival with loud fireworks amongst the streets of Valencia, or thousands of disguised, costumed young people in the streets of Cadiz for Carnival, I live for the crowd, and the chaos and energy that come with it.

This past Sunday, the crowd was a healthier group but the spirit was the same. The madrileños woke up relatively early for the gunshot at 9:30am. We had people cheering us on the side of the streets yelling, "Ánimo, ánimo, venga, venga!", which is somehow even more encouraging in Spanish. At one corner, I noticed a reverse in cheering- the runners were cheering as they were turning. As I got closer, I saw two adorable nuns sitting on the curb watching the race and cheering on the runners. Yet these nuns were getting more attention than us; I couldn´t help but smile.

The hardest kilometers were 19 and 20, just before the final kilometer. Kilometer 19 involved a cruel and intentional uphill into the Parque del Retiro and kilometer 20 involved a tease: just when we thought we were going to turn left to run in to the finish, the race took us on a long and arborous path where we passed right along the runners that had already finished the loop. Yet, through it all, I made it in just over two hours, and all of my friends finished as well.

We got some sweet shirts out of it; even more so we got a sweet tour of the city! From the energy of the crowd to the views of the city to the proud feeling after crossing the finish line, I will forever remember the Madrid half marathon. And I will choose to forget the pain I felt today getting to school and back ;)