I have found myself over the past week, jotting down little notes and reminders of things that I can include in these weekly musings. Some of the topics are amusing, others ironic, others just interesting, while others really gave me pause. What do you think?
Spain and its Americanisms
One of the things that attracts me about Spain is its laid back, old world feel (i.e. clothespins & freshly baked bread)…mixed with some modernsims (mobile phones and email). Leaving the USA was tough…but leaving some of the more “American” things behind was a relief. Well, imagine my dismay when I turned on the TV and heard “Whaaaaassssuuupppp??!!” come floating from the speakers. It is one of the hottest commercials here…so much for Bud Light. America has its Energizer Bunny. Here that bunny is a turncoat and acts for Duracell. Are those two battery companies owned by the same multinational? This past Saturday I was rudely awakened to the Spanish version of “Achey Breaky Heart”...(you remember that Billy Ray Cyrus song). I can assure you that it´s no better in Spanish. Adding insult to injury, the line dance of choice here is the Electric Slide…of course danced to the tune of “Mi Pobre Corazón” (My Achey Breaky Heart). DH´s favorite restaurant here in Gandía is not the local tasca…nope,…it´s a chain called Fosters of Hollywood. Go figure. Of course his meal of choice…cheeseburger. I won´t even tell you how lousy the “authentic Philly Cheesesteak” is that they have on the menu. Oh…and Big Brother is one of the most popular TV shows (it airs twice daily) and on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire the smart guy wins 50,000,000 pesetas…$250,000…someone is getting shortchanged here… (Although I do believe that those two TV shows are actually produced by a company in Sweden or some other Nordic country and then the rights sold to different countries).
The Basque Elections and Political Passion
Just recently as Pennsylvania was gearing up for its primaries, and Philadelphia was witnessing a heated race for the D.A.´s office, the elections in the Basque region (or the Basque Country as the Nationalists prefer to call it) of Spain were taking place. The Basque region is actually part of northern Spain (around the Cantabrian Sea) and southern France. For years, the Spanish part of the Basque region has been fighting for its independence. So passionate is this fight that it has turned violent at times. In the USA, some of us are familiar with the bombings by the Basque separatist/terrorist group, ETA. I recall one summer when I was in San Sebastian (beautiful city in the Basque region) visiting some friends and rioting broke out in the streets, led by ETA. The sheer terror that I felt when we stepped outside of the bar to see what was going on as a wave of rioters came rushing up the street and washed us back inside quickly followed by police in riot gear was incomparable. For me as an American the terror was on a couple of levels, not understanding fully what was happening, never having been that close to violence before…and never really having to feel that passionate about political freedom. In Spain, that passion unfortunately manifests itself in terrorist acts and bombings. A week or so ago, the day before the elections, at precisely midnight, a car bomb went off in center city Madrid…in a very popular crowded section of town. In fact the bombing took place two blocks from where I used to live 14 years ago (ohmigod has it been that long?). The day after the elections, when the political party closely aligned with ETA lost the elections, ETA retaliated by mailing a letter bomb to one of the more prominent journalists in the area. Fortunately the journalist did not die, but suffered extreme injury to his face and lost his thumb. I cannot imagine living with such passion. Do we, as Americans, feel such passion during our elections? I tend to think not, or if we do, that passion manifests itself in other ways, such as mud slinging. Somehow, I don’t think it’s the same.
Numbers Numbers and more Numbers
Since moving here, I have had to learn a lot of new numbers and the math…new phone number, mobile phone number, street address, zip code. I have the numbers floating in my head like the fruit in a pitcher of sangría. Oh, and I am beginning to understand the Finnish stock market…and the French…and the German and the English…etc. So much for the Dow Jones and NASDAQ. How quickly can you convert pounds to kilos? Ounces to grams? Feet to meters? Miles to kilometers… Celsius to Fahrenheit Ughhh... I am getting there! What is even more a kicker is trying to estimate the economy here and constantly dividing the prices by 200 to figure out how many $$ I am spending. Eventually the $$ amount won´t matter when I am fully integrated and am earning my own pesetas…for now it´s to have a point of reference. By the beginning of 2002 the Spanish peseta will cease to exist when the Euro dollar (almost equivalent to the US dollar), as hard currency, gets introduced into the market. Imagine living in a country where your entire currency is changing…and we thought quarters for each of the states was a big deal…Not only is the currency itself changing, but the value as well. Almost everything here carries two prices, the peseta and the Euro dollar.
Am I American?
Everyone from Breadwoman to the taxi drivers are surprised to learn that I am from Philadelphia. Afterall, I look latina and I speak spanish...I am not blond and blue-eyed…so of course I live in a state where they only speak Spanish such as California (according to Breadwoman) or Miami (according to a taxi driver...afterall the only Americans that he knows are the ones he has met online playing chess. They are from the northeast coast...Connecticut and don´t speak spanish...so how do I speak it so well?). Diós mío!! What do I tell them?
Dollar Stores Spanish Style
So you thought that the Spain brothers (no relationship to the country Spain) had the market cornered on the Dollar Stores huh? I guess they did not consult with the Lee´s, Cheng´s and other Chinese entrepreneurs here in Spain. Yes, there are Chinese entrepreneurs here too...there are days when I am tempted to go in and see if they speak English…out of desperation for someone to speak to in English!! Apart from the multitude of Chinese restaurants here (one per block) the Todo Cien (All for 100 pesetas) stores make a killing. I guess for American tourists looking for a real bargin, the Todo Cien stores are where they should go since 100 pesetas is equivalent to about 60 cents. Woo Hoo! Interestingly enough...the articles for sale don´t really change from country to country...
Housework...Not Physically Labor Intensive According to Spanish Judge
The Spanish legal system is preoccupied with America´s lax laws regarding online child pornography (although according to today´s Wall Street Journal the Supreme Court is revisiting its ruling)…and it is also concerned with ruling housework in Spain non-labor intensive (according to a judge in Southern Spain). Well, I work up quite a sweat when I use those darn clothespins to hang clothes out in the blazing sun. Seriously! I need to remember my sunscreen! Apparently, that Judge hasn´t swept and mopped the floors at our house...in the heat...ithout airconditioning. Forget the aerobics classes, I get the exercise just moving that mop along. Let´s not talk about Angel´s 10lb iron (is that 5 kilos??). No kidding. He is very proud of this iron and the fact that he paid $80 for it (is he sick??). It is a quality tool, not like the light weight one that I had in the USA which, by the way, did not see much use. I don´t need to use my handweights...I get the workout with the iron. My biceps are looking good these days!
Ahhh...!! Life is good!!
Friday, May 18, 2001
Friday, May 11, 2001
Settling In: Lessons Learned
I know I entertained many of you with my story about the discovery of this modern invention called clothespins. Boy are mine getting a workout. I might have to upgrade my model soon. Maybe there is a beta version coming out soon of the upgrade. I wonder if I can download it from a website somewhere!
I found that I have to do a few things in a certain order to be an effective housewive. First, I must change out of my flimsy bathrobe into regular clothes before hanging the clothes out to dry. Living on the 6th floor, with our clotheslines on the balcony facing the main street...you can see everything from down below. All it would take would be a good gust of wind and well...you get the gist. Funny thing is I figured this out when I was coming back from my morning run yesterday and happened to look up to our balcony. I was horrified when I thought about all the times that I went out on the balcony just in my long nightshirt!! Note to self: Always put clothes on before going outside.
I also have to remember to mop the balcony before hanging out the clothes. City dirt (well in my case small town dirt) has a knack for finding nice white tile and sticking to it. When the wind comes along and blows over the clothes drying rack..with the still wet clothes on it...well, it kind of renders your efforts of washing the clothes, changing into regular clothes, and hanging the wet clothes out with clothespins rather useless if the balcony is filthy since they just get all dirty again. Note to self: Mop balcony this morning after changing into regular clothes.
I´ve learned that the gusts of wind here can be pretty strong, even in the enclosed back patio, and that whenever you hang out clothes, you must use clothespins! I hung out Angel´s sleeping bag on the line in the enclosed patio (windows from all the neighbors look into this patio. Think square..hollow in the middle). Figuring that it would be ok that I just doubled it over the line to dry I went about my business. Well, the sight of his sleeping bag slung on the clothes line of our 3rd floor neighbors (if we had any) is testament enough that I will always use those clothespins. Of course I had to be the one to knock on the neighbors´ door to sheepishly ask them for the sleeping bag back. As luck would have it, flat 3 door 6 (we are flat 6 door 12) is vacant. So, I have no way of retrieving that sleeping bag unless another gust comes along and blows it into the first floor patio...that of the BREAD WOMAN. Note to self: Always use clothespins! No short cuts here!
Me and the Breadwoman
There are pros and cons to small town life...so they say. I haven´t figured out the pros yet...but the cons..well...that´s another story. As many of you know, we live above a bakery. It´s wonderful to wake up every morning to the aroma of fresh baked bread. Wait till you come to visit to experience it for yourself! What´s not so great is that the Bread Woman is the town gossip. Or at least for our "finca" (apartment building). One evening, DH decided to spoil me and went to the grocery store to buy some ice cream and then stopped at the bakery to pick up some sinful no-nos. Well I´ll be damned....The bread woman says to him..."I see that now that you have a fridge, you are buying ice cream. Oh, and I hear that you have a woman living with you". Of course DH, with his ironic sense of humor and hating small town life as much as I do, says to her "yep, I have a woman all for me. And the best thing about it is that I don´t even have to pay her!". Needless to say Breadwoman was horrified. She didn´t know whether or not to take him seriously. For a couple of days, I had to bear strange looks from the people in my apartment building. Finally after some pleading on my part, Angel went back to the Breadwoman and clarified that he didn´t have to pay me because I was his wife. He explained that we got married about a month ago in the USA. Phew!! Note to self: Be careful of what you say to the town gossip.
Elevator Conversations
So I think I can go about my business in private without anyone needing to know who I am or what I am doing. I guess rollerblades in small town Spain are a real wonder, even moreso when sported by a woman. The looks I get...well anyway. It´s amazing how all my neighbors know me. I wouldn´t know them if I tripped over them. One thing that you must know about elevators here in Spain....they are very small! Maximum of 4 people can fit in them and heaven help you if your neighbor just came back from grocery shopping. There is the Bajita who lives on the 2nd floor (bajita = short). I mean she is really short. She comes up to my elbow. No lie. (That is not a slam to my short friends). I feel like an ungainly giant in the elevator next to her. Anyway, yesterday she says to me..."so how are you adjusting to life here in Spain?". How did she know I am not from here? I have never said anything to her! Of course this was just as I came back from my morning run so I am sure there is some fodder for gossip somewhere in there. Later on in the afternoon I squeezed into the elevator with two other neighbors who just came back from grocery shopping (mother and grown daughter). I was going to wait for the next elevator but they insisted. Not only did they insist but they said, "come on in, you get off before us anyway". I must have had this perplexed look on my face because the older woman said "yes, we live in the flat above you. So, if you ever need anything...". Yeah, I need something. I need to know how you knew who lived below you? I have never seen you before in my life! Oh yes, there is something else I need...I need for you to stop dragging your chairs across the floor. They make an ungodly noise at midnight! I took the opportunity to introduce myself and explain that I was the newly married American living in the building. Hopefully that will have squelched any remaining gossip spread by Breadwoman. Note to self: Just when you weren´t looking, everyone knows who you are. No mystery here.
It´s now 9:30 am...time for my morning run (I have given up on the rollerblades until they are finished repairing all the town streets). You won´t get this until 6pm my time (Spain is 6 hours ahead of the USA east coast...you do the math) since that is when I will log online. Hopefully you have enjoyed my observations and even got a chuckle out of my experiences so far. C´mon...not even a smile?
I found that I have to do a few things in a certain order to be an effective housewive. First, I must change out of my flimsy bathrobe into regular clothes before hanging the clothes out to dry. Living on the 6th floor, with our clotheslines on the balcony facing the main street...you can see everything from down below. All it would take would be a good gust of wind and well...you get the gist. Funny thing is I figured this out when I was coming back from my morning run yesterday and happened to look up to our balcony. I was horrified when I thought about all the times that I went out on the balcony just in my long nightshirt!! Note to self: Always put clothes on before going outside.
I also have to remember to mop the balcony before hanging out the clothes. City dirt (well in my case small town dirt) has a knack for finding nice white tile and sticking to it. When the wind comes along and blows over the clothes drying rack..with the still wet clothes on it...well, it kind of renders your efforts of washing the clothes, changing into regular clothes, and hanging the wet clothes out with clothespins rather useless if the balcony is filthy since they just get all dirty again. Note to self: Mop balcony this morning after changing into regular clothes.
I´ve learned that the gusts of wind here can be pretty strong, even in the enclosed back patio, and that whenever you hang out clothes, you must use clothespins! I hung out Angel´s sleeping bag on the line in the enclosed patio (windows from all the neighbors look into this patio. Think square..hollow in the middle). Figuring that it would be ok that I just doubled it over the line to dry I went about my business. Well, the sight of his sleeping bag slung on the clothes line of our 3rd floor neighbors (if we had any) is testament enough that I will always use those clothespins. Of course I had to be the one to knock on the neighbors´ door to sheepishly ask them for the sleeping bag back. As luck would have it, flat 3 door 6 (we are flat 6 door 12) is vacant. So, I have no way of retrieving that sleeping bag unless another gust comes along and blows it into the first floor patio...that of the BREAD WOMAN. Note to self: Always use clothespins! No short cuts here!
Me and the Breadwoman
There are pros and cons to small town life...so they say. I haven´t figured out the pros yet...but the cons..well...that´s another story. As many of you know, we live above a bakery. It´s wonderful to wake up every morning to the aroma of fresh baked bread. Wait till you come to visit to experience it for yourself! What´s not so great is that the Bread Woman is the town gossip. Or at least for our "finca" (apartment building). One evening, DH decided to spoil me and went to the grocery store to buy some ice cream and then stopped at the bakery to pick up some sinful no-nos. Well I´ll be damned....The bread woman says to him..."I see that now that you have a fridge, you are buying ice cream. Oh, and I hear that you have a woman living with you". Of course DH, with his ironic sense of humor and hating small town life as much as I do, says to her "yep, I have a woman all for me. And the best thing about it is that I don´t even have to pay her!". Needless to say Breadwoman was horrified. She didn´t know whether or not to take him seriously. For a couple of days, I had to bear strange looks from the people in my apartment building. Finally after some pleading on my part, Angel went back to the Breadwoman and clarified that he didn´t have to pay me because I was his wife. He explained that we got married about a month ago in the USA. Phew!! Note to self: Be careful of what you say to the town gossip.
Elevator Conversations
So I think I can go about my business in private without anyone needing to know who I am or what I am doing. I guess rollerblades in small town Spain are a real wonder, even moreso when sported by a woman. The looks I get...well anyway. It´s amazing how all my neighbors know me. I wouldn´t know them if I tripped over them. One thing that you must know about elevators here in Spain....they are very small! Maximum of 4 people can fit in them and heaven help you if your neighbor just came back from grocery shopping. There is the Bajita who lives on the 2nd floor (bajita = short). I mean she is really short. She comes up to my elbow. No lie. (That is not a slam to my short friends). I feel like an ungainly giant in the elevator next to her. Anyway, yesterday she says to me..."so how are you adjusting to life here in Spain?". How did she know I am not from here? I have never said anything to her! Of course this was just as I came back from my morning run so I am sure there is some fodder for gossip somewhere in there. Later on in the afternoon I squeezed into the elevator with two other neighbors who just came back from grocery shopping (mother and grown daughter). I was going to wait for the next elevator but they insisted. Not only did they insist but they said, "come on in, you get off before us anyway". I must have had this perplexed look on my face because the older woman said "yes, we live in the flat above you. So, if you ever need anything...". Yeah, I need something. I need to know how you knew who lived below you? I have never seen you before in my life! Oh yes, there is something else I need...I need for you to stop dragging your chairs across the floor. They make an ungodly noise at midnight! I took the opportunity to introduce myself and explain that I was the newly married American living in the building. Hopefully that will have squelched any remaining gossip spread by Breadwoman. Note to self: Just when you weren´t looking, everyone knows who you are. No mystery here.
It´s now 9:30 am...time for my morning run (I have given up on the rollerblades until they are finished repairing all the town streets). You won´t get this until 6pm my time (Spain is 6 hours ahead of the USA east coast...you do the math) since that is when I will log online. Hopefully you have enjoyed my observations and even got a chuckle out of my experiences so far. C´mon...not even a smile?
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