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:

The Madrid apartment

I lived in a fairy-tale apartment for approximately three and a half months in the center of Madrid. I fully realized the dream when it was almost too late. When my parents made a grand trip overseas out of the Brea bubble, we were invited by my host-mom Rosa to come over “for a little snack around 8pm”. Yet she gave us a full reception complete with wine that my mom couldn't stop talking about, and olives that my dad couldn't stop eating. It was great to be able to share my experience with two special people in my life and show them a corner of my life in Madrid. Here are some pictures of the fairy-tale apartment and one of my fairy godmother.

Oh the places you will go!

...With your parents. My parents have been planning this trip for a year now, it was their first trip to Europe and I think they made their mark. Literally, my dad has marked his European territory by stretching on a bench in 5 museums, 1 palace, 1 monastary, and multiple parks. We got a police escort when we got lost and a taxi escort for less than 30 seconds. One pharse of their vacation became “venimos, comimos, vichimos”: we came, we ate, we conquered. It's true, every meal was a different experience. For me, I found it difficult trying to translate the menu and everything the waiter was saying to me. They found it difficult not being able to communicate their several questions to the waiter. But all in all, we ended up with food on our plates and wine in our glasses. It was great to see them enjoy themselves for almost three weeks because I have seen them working hard and consistently all of their lives. For me, albeit it was difficult at times, it was a treat.

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.