OK OK OK already! I am sending more stories! I am actually pleasantly surprised that so many of you find my stories and experiences so fascinating. I have to admit, aside from missing my friends and family, I don´t regret my move to Spain one bit. I feel like this change in life has really developed and challenged me. As Anabella put it, “you have explored your professional side…now you are exploring your feminine side” (referring to the cooking & cleaning, & husband dependancy). Even Ángel chuckles when he sees me in the kitchen and almost always comments “I wish I had a video camera, your friends in the states would not recognize you behind that apron with the wooden spoon in your hand”.
Adventures in Moving
After a quick jaunt home for a visit to the Spanish Consulate in NYC at the end of October (another step in a long line of bureaucracy for my resident´s card), a visit with family & friends, a massage (thanks Pretty Patti!!), a haircut & manicure, a visit to WYBE, and of course the mandatory salsa dancing at Brasils(Thanks for the party Chris T!), I returned to our home in Gandía to spend a week packing for our move. Of course the best laid plans are always foiled as I was called to Madrid for an interview midweek (Wednesday) which shot three days of packing (I was hired and started the following Monday). On Friday, friends Xema and Silvia came down from Valencia to wish us well (and help DH load the washer and fridge onto the truck). Their anticipated two hour visit turned into nine hours as DH met his match in Xema...the only other man I know who can talk as much as him. Needless to say, most of the packing got done Saturday morning and at precisely midnight, hubby and I pulled out of Gandía with all our worldly posessions in a Spanish style U-Haul It. 10 hours later, after 4 cans of Red Bull, countless expressos, and a couple of hours of shut-eye at a roadside gas station, we pulled into El Espinar, our new hometown.
Urban Chic(a) meets El Espinar
El Espinar is a charming town in the province of Segovia, about 35 miles northwest of Madrid. Yes, it´s cold here, we are nestled in the foothills of the mountains in a valley. Our house has beautiful breathtaking views of the mountain ranges and pine forests. If Gandía was small, El Espinar is tiny with about 2,500 residents. We can´t get away from the breadmaker...our landlord was the town´s breadmaker...now retired. One next door neighbor is the town´s retired wood chopper, and the other neighbor, formerly the town butcher, is building a mansion of a house next to ours. Fortunately, they aren´t gossipy like our Gandía neighbors. (The Segovian personality to the Valencian personality is like comparing the US east coast and west coast peronalities). Our house is on a cañada, a street which is a designated cattle route used by the heardsmen when they move the cattle from one pasture to the next. Not sure when this spectacle will take place, it promises to be mighty interesting. I was excited to hang my first load of wash out to dry (doesn´t that sound frightening)...couldn´t wait for the aroma of fresh moutain air in the clothes. Was I in for a rude surprise when I pulled the sheets off the line, plunged my nose into them and got a nice whiff of...COW MANURE. I forgot about the pastures that were just around the bend from our house at the town´s back entrance. According to the townsfolk, the cow dung is excellent kindling for the fire. Hmm...no thanks, in my sheets is bad enough, I don´t need it in the house too!
Spreading my wings
I have thrown in the towel (temporarily) and accepted a part time position teaching English with O.E. Academy. Native speakers of English are in high demand as teachers. Certainly doesn´t hurt me to have a training background. It´s great to get out of the house and meet people. I clock about 20 – 25 hours a week and my students range in age from 8 – 50+ years. It really is giving my gradeschool grammar a run for its money...and I have learned a lot about the differences between American English and British English. I cover the northern suburbs of Madrid (can you say suburban sprawl and soccer moms?). Of course the families that I teach are all rather well to do and their homes show it!! I am mentally taking notes of how I want our future house to be!! I will also be getting a car in a couple of weeks...which means that I will have to break down and learn to drive stickshift before taking my driver´s exam here. Be prepared for great stories of me being overtaken by cows!
Holiday Wishes
Unfortunately, we won´t be home (to the US) for the holidays this year. After three trips to the US in a period of 6 months...prior to me working, our economy has told us to slow down a bit...be prepared for our visit late winter early spring! In the meantime, warmest holiday greetings to everyone! With much love from me & hubby.
Saturday, December 08, 2001
Saturday, September 22, 2001
Terrorism and the Spanish Attitude
Terrorism and the Spanish Attitude
First and foremost, I want to let you all know that both I and my family are all OK. Many many thanks to those who have called or emailed me with respects to my safety here in Spain. They certainly comforted me during a time of fear and concern. Fortunately none of us (my family) have been directly affected by the terroristic attacks that occured in the US 12 days ago, although as thousands of others, have experienced close calls. Unfortunately, the husband of one of my brother´s co-workers was a co-pilot in one of the planes that crashed into the World Trade Center. I encourage you all to visit the web page that has been set up in his memory. He appears to have been a remarkable person.
On the day of the attacks, within 10 minutes of the first attack, my cell phone began to ring incessantly from my friends all over Spain calling to check in on me and let me know what was on the news. The attacks on the WTC occurred during the “siesta” hour here in Spain, the time that most everyone is at home eating the main meal of the day and watching the main newscasts. I was in Madrid that day, having just picked up a couple of friends at the airport arrving from Philadelphia a couple of hours earlier. The three of us watched in horror as we saw the second attack on the WTC live on the news.
Many of you have emailed or called asking me about the attitude in Spain with regards to what the Spaniards thought about these terroristic attacks. As I have mentioned previously, terrorism is nothing new to Spainards. In Spain exists the ETA terrorist group, based in the Basque regions of Spain (north) and France (south), which continuously fights for its independence from Spain. However, its attacks are, for the most part, very targeted to specific politicians, journalists, reporters and police. They do not compare in magnitude to the mass destruction suffered by the USA (and the world) the other week. Spainards and the Spanish government are very much behind the USA in its global effort to eliminate terrorism around the world, whether it be in the name of Islamic Terrorists, Basque Separatists / terrorists, or the Irish Republican Army in the name Catholic Separatism. What the Spaniards (and the rest of Europe in general) don´t want, however, is an indescriminate and “knee jerk” response by the US government in the name of an international coalition that will serve only the needs of the American people. The general thought here is if the US is truly concerned about eliminating terrorism on a global level, then it must take into consideration the global effects its actions will have.
There are two American military bases located here in Spain, which the Spanish government has given authorization to the US to use in its efforts to combat world terrorism. However, a poorly thought out plan by the US government (meaning...a failure to take into consideration global concerns...not just American interests) could possibly result in attacks to these US bases (or any other US military bases or American institutions around the world) affecting not only the US, but also the host country. Spain is rich in Arabic culture as evidenced in it´s architecture particularly throughout Andalusia (southern Spain) and the entire Valencian (Mediterranean coast) region. Being just a hop skip and a jump from the Middle East, and the primary entry point for Morroccans, Algerians and other Muslims into Europe, Spain is rightfully concerned about any military repercussions.
Ok, I am getting off my soap box…Onto a lighter topic…
Employment in Spain
I have learned alot about how Spaniards “save face” when put into uncomfortable positions. My rather successful interview process with the Red Cross of the Valencian Region came to a screeching halt the other day when I spoke with the president and informed him of our definitive move to Madrid in a few weeks, and declining the organization´s offer of employment. Right from the very beginning of the interview process, I was frank with him and the other local presidents that I met with letting them know of an outside chance of us moving to Madrid. His frustration at our decision was made clear through his thinly veiled comments of “I knew from the beginning that this would be a problem for us (Red Cross)”, “From the start I thought that you were too young and inexperienced to do fundraising for us”, “your status here is so unstable. You aren´t certain how long you will be here in Spain..you will probably move back to the United States”. Wow...I really had to hold my diplomatic tongue. DH as well as a few other Spanish friends, were horrified and livid. I´ll just chalk it up to experience and a big political ego. I have dealt with both before!
So, it´s off to Madrid we go...actually a small town a half hour north of the city in the foothills of the mountains. We will have a white Christmas and DH has promised me a live Christmas tree! We fell in love with the charming town which is much smaller than where we live now...so is our flat..it´s about half the size, but we will be nice and cozy and closer to his family. We will be moving in about 3 weeks.
Speaking of being closer to family…I should write a book about what I did for love… moved to a foreign country, left my career, family & friends in the USA, became dependent on a man (horrors!) and have successfully spent two weeks alone with my mother-in-law. I lie, we were not alone, we have been accompanied the whole time by her two small yappy type dogs. The first week we were in their summer “home” two hours north of Madrid, this week we came here to Gandía. Geeze, I must REALLY love Ángel. At least he can no longer accuse me of shedding my long hair here…the dogs have been giving me some fierce competition.
Being with my “suegra” (mother in law) does have its advantages. I have learned how to clean and cook octopus, clean, de-spine and prepare a variety of fish...including sardines marinated in lemon juice. Yes, raw sardines marinated in lemon juice with a little salt. If you are a sushi fan, I recommend you try it..it´s actually really good! I have also learned how they clean houses here in Spain (vs the American way), the right way to wash dishes...etc. Actually, in all honesty, it has been great getting to know her.
Philadelphia has been on Spanish TV an awful lot lately. First it began with Kraft´s advertising campaign of Philadelphia cream cheese. Every half hour this commercial would be on TV. Then all of a sudden, Pans & Company (think Spanish version of Subway) brought to the discriminating Spanish palates the Famous Philadelphia Cheesesteak...fresh from the other side of the Atlantic. Go figure! Too bad the city can´t be internationally known for more notable things...like it´s history (a drop in the bucket compared to the history here in Spain), or the wonderful variety of restaurants, or its diversity.
First and foremost, I want to let you all know that both I and my family are all OK. Many many thanks to those who have called or emailed me with respects to my safety here in Spain. They certainly comforted me during a time of fear and concern. Fortunately none of us (my family) have been directly affected by the terroristic attacks that occured in the US 12 days ago, although as thousands of others, have experienced close calls. Unfortunately, the husband of one of my brother´s co-workers was a co-pilot in one of the planes that crashed into the World Trade Center. I encourage you all to visit the web page that has been set up in his memory. He appears to have been a remarkable person.
On the day of the attacks, within 10 minutes of the first attack, my cell phone began to ring incessantly from my friends all over Spain calling to check in on me and let me know what was on the news. The attacks on the WTC occurred during the “siesta” hour here in Spain, the time that most everyone is at home eating the main meal of the day and watching the main newscasts. I was in Madrid that day, having just picked up a couple of friends at the airport arrving from Philadelphia a couple of hours earlier. The three of us watched in horror as we saw the second attack on the WTC live on the news.
Many of you have emailed or called asking me about the attitude in Spain with regards to what the Spaniards thought about these terroristic attacks. As I have mentioned previously, terrorism is nothing new to Spainards. In Spain exists the ETA terrorist group, based in the Basque regions of Spain (north) and France (south), which continuously fights for its independence from Spain. However, its attacks are, for the most part, very targeted to specific politicians, journalists, reporters and police. They do not compare in magnitude to the mass destruction suffered by the USA (and the world) the other week. Spainards and the Spanish government are very much behind the USA in its global effort to eliminate terrorism around the world, whether it be in the name of Islamic Terrorists, Basque Separatists / terrorists, or the Irish Republican Army in the name Catholic Separatism. What the Spaniards (and the rest of Europe in general) don´t want, however, is an indescriminate and “knee jerk” response by the US government in the name of an international coalition that will serve only the needs of the American people. The general thought here is if the US is truly concerned about eliminating terrorism on a global level, then it must take into consideration the global effects its actions will have.
There are two American military bases located here in Spain, which the Spanish government has given authorization to the US to use in its efforts to combat world terrorism. However, a poorly thought out plan by the US government (meaning...a failure to take into consideration global concerns...not just American interests) could possibly result in attacks to these US bases (or any other US military bases or American institutions around the world) affecting not only the US, but also the host country. Spain is rich in Arabic culture as evidenced in it´s architecture particularly throughout Andalusia (southern Spain) and the entire Valencian (Mediterranean coast) region. Being just a hop skip and a jump from the Middle East, and the primary entry point for Morroccans, Algerians and other Muslims into Europe, Spain is rightfully concerned about any military repercussions.
Ok, I am getting off my soap box…Onto a lighter topic…
Employment in Spain
I have learned alot about how Spaniards “save face” when put into uncomfortable positions. My rather successful interview process with the Red Cross of the Valencian Region came to a screeching halt the other day when I spoke with the president and informed him of our definitive move to Madrid in a few weeks, and declining the organization´s offer of employment. Right from the very beginning of the interview process, I was frank with him and the other local presidents that I met with letting them know of an outside chance of us moving to Madrid. His frustration at our decision was made clear through his thinly veiled comments of “I knew from the beginning that this would be a problem for us (Red Cross)”, “From the start I thought that you were too young and inexperienced to do fundraising for us”, “your status here is so unstable. You aren´t certain how long you will be here in Spain..you will probably move back to the United States”. Wow...I really had to hold my diplomatic tongue. DH as well as a few other Spanish friends, were horrified and livid. I´ll just chalk it up to experience and a big political ego. I have dealt with both before!
So, it´s off to Madrid we go...actually a small town a half hour north of the city in the foothills of the mountains. We will have a white Christmas and DH has promised me a live Christmas tree! We fell in love with the charming town which is much smaller than where we live now...so is our flat..it´s about half the size, but we will be nice and cozy and closer to his family. We will be moving in about 3 weeks.
Speaking of being closer to family…I should write a book about what I did for love… moved to a foreign country, left my career, family & friends in the USA, became dependent on a man (horrors!) and have successfully spent two weeks alone with my mother-in-law. I lie, we were not alone, we have been accompanied the whole time by her two small yappy type dogs. The first week we were in their summer “home” two hours north of Madrid, this week we came here to Gandía. Geeze, I must REALLY love Ángel. At least he can no longer accuse me of shedding my long hair here…the dogs have been giving me some fierce competition.
Being with my “suegra” (mother in law) does have its advantages. I have learned how to clean and cook octopus, clean, de-spine and prepare a variety of fish...including sardines marinated in lemon juice. Yes, raw sardines marinated in lemon juice with a little salt. If you are a sushi fan, I recommend you try it..it´s actually really good! I have also learned how they clean houses here in Spain (vs the American way), the right way to wash dishes...etc. Actually, in all honesty, it has been great getting to know her.
Philadelphia has been on Spanish TV an awful lot lately. First it began with Kraft´s advertising campaign of Philadelphia cream cheese. Every half hour this commercial would be on TV. Then all of a sudden, Pans & Company (think Spanish version of Subway) brought to the discriminating Spanish palates the Famous Philadelphia Cheesesteak...fresh from the other side of the Atlantic. Go figure! Too bad the city can´t be internationally known for more notable things...like it´s history (a drop in the bucket compared to the history here in Spain), or the wonderful variety of restaurants, or its diversity.
Tuesday, July 10, 2001
Surviving the Valencian Summer
Summer is here! Although in Gandía the weather is really mild year round with no “white winter”, summer is really something else. With tempurates soaring into the 90´s by 10 am my daily routine includes closing all the blinds and lower the awnings by 7am before the sun begins to enter the house. Otherwise, all day the house will be like an oven…and Lord knows if I really want to roast myself, I just need to go 2km to the beach. Gandía is the summer haven for nearly half of Madrid. Being situated in the middle of the country, Madrid has no beach to call its own. So, it has taken over Gandía...5 hours east of the city. DH and I are looking forward to our opportunity to escape because the noise level is becoming unbearable...parties and racuous voices at all hours of the night and day. It paints quite a different picture of the picturesque Spain that one's mind may conjure up.
With the arrival of summertime come some of the most world known Spanish festivals. Among them San Fermín (the “Running of the Bulls”) in Pamplona and the Tomatina (the tomato fight) in Buñol, a small town in the Valencian province. Hemmingway, in his book, The Sun Also Rises, made famous the Running of the Bulls for Americans... and one trip to Pamplona would show just that...streets and bars are named after him, and during the actual week long festival, the city brims with many party goers, the largest percentage of them North Americans, specifically from the USA. Many residents of Pamplona escape from the city during this time. The fact of the matter, encierros (enclosures), as they are called in Spain, existed long before Hemmingway was born and they are a tradition that is carried out in many towns across Spain to this day. Contrary to popular belief, this tradition is not built on cruelty to animals, but is based upon the act of bringing the bulls from the pasture to the bull ring, either to sell or to participate in a bullfight. The mozos (the herdsmen), who train throughout the year for this incredible movement, run with the bulls to keep them on their path, always respecting their space and respecting the bull. Over the years, this tradition in Pamplona has become an international spectacle, encouraging a sense of false bravado in partygoers...a bravado that is only enhanced by the consumption of alcohol and extreme levels of exhaustion from having partied all night long. In 1998 (just before meeting Angel), I was in Pamplona for this festival. While I admit that it is a party worth experiencing once in a lifetime, it is also the most grotesque display of excessiveness that you could ever see. Perhaps Mardi Gras in Río de Janeiro would rival it. Every year, the Spanish newspapers fill with articles about the foreigners who come to party and then run with the bulls and every year, without fail, there are serious injuries, among them, Americans. This year a 29 year old woman from New Jersey suffered a foot long cornado (gored by the horn) in her thigh as well as serious head injuries. Imagine her story when she goes back home...”how I spent my summer vacation”. People don´t give a second thought to the danger of running with the bulls when they haven´t trained for it. Each bull weighs around 1,860 lbs…and there are 11 of them that are released into the streets. I had a prime seat, on the ground on just the other side of the fence. I could hear and feel the bulls coming long before they actually passed in front of me.. Just imagine..20,500 lbs of fear, confusion and fury running down wet, cobblestoned streets that twist and turn their way to the bullring...and you are going to throw yourself in front of THAT? WHAT ARE THEY THINKING?!! Apparently many Americans think it´s a great idea so much that there is actually a Running of the Bulls in (Reno I think) Nevada.
To answer the several of you who wrote me asking what the heck was a Vespa, here you can see exactly what I am talking about.
These motor bikes are not nearly as large or powerful as motorcycles, but are similar in terms of danger both to the riders as well as car drivers. They are very popular throughout Spain and Italy for a number of reasons...they are an economical and efficient way of getting around congested city streets and consume little gas, as well, the Mediterranean climate lends itself to this form of transportation. Everyone rides them from the messengers, to the pizza delivery boy, to businessmen with their briefcases, to grandmas with their grandkids (either the grand kid giving Grandma a lift or viceversa if the granchild is very young!).
Return of the prodigal sleeping bag
Remember the sleeping bag that fell to my dismay 3 stories down and got caught on the clothesline of a vacant flat? Well, turns out that the owner of the flat is from Madrid and has come to town to vacation...I was able to rescue the bag just in time for our camping trip to the Pyrenees this summer. However, just yesterday, a placemat decided to jump out of my hands and has faced the same fate, dangling from the clothesline from our neighbors on the second floor. I paid them a visit yesterday, but there was no answer. With my luck, they are from Gandía and have left town for the summer to escape the arrival of all the tourists.
Gandía...the town where everyone knows your name
Are you looking for someone specific? Go to the local “hot spot” or gossip center and you will be able to find their whereabouts very easily. That´s what Rosa did. I spoke with Rosa on the phone a few weeks ago, expressing interest in volunteering for an organization that she is involved with. How excited she was. I told her I would call when I came back from my quick visit to the USA. Two days after coming back, my arms laden with bags from the grocery store, I hear a woman call my name and wave wildly to me from across the street. “Who the heck??...” I thought to myself as this strange woman came running up and gave me the customary kiss on each cheek, talking a mile a minute as if she knew me all her life. Turns out that it was Rosa. She tracked down my address and went, where else?, but to the bakery and asked the breadwoman if she knew who I was or how she could find me. Heaven help me! Just my luck that I am coming out of the grocery store while this is happening so breadwoman simply pointed me out.
Gandía has a McDonalds!
Yep, that´s right, just in time for all the vacationing Madrileños who wouldn´t want to leave their urban lifestyle behind. It just opened the other day, and has a new international menu featuring the McSahara, McAustralia, and McMexico sandwiches. Don´t ask, I don´t even want to know. I´m waiting for my Venezuelan brother, Angelo, and his wife to come visit. They will be here in about two weeks, for both business and pleasure. The purpose of his visit? To see the possibilities of opening a “Churro Express”. Churros are Spanish pastries that are typically eaten with a mug of thick hot chocolate. (Thick like pudding thick). That tradition went with the explorers to “the new world” and now the modern day Venezolanos are bringing it back to Spain by way of franchise. Maybe Gandía will have one soon…
My job search oddessy has taken me into Madrid for three different interviews...each opportunity very interesting...Avanade – as marketing manager for Spain, Editorial Plana – as an international sales executive, and Greenpeace Spain – for fundraising. The first company closed its search since the current manager has decided to stay on. Editorial Plana would have been dream job for a year or so if I weren´t married. It involved international travel 11 months of the year interviewing presidents and heads of states around the world for advertising supplements for the Washington Post, Financial Times and other internationally known publications. I am hoping to be called back for a second interview for Greenpeace and should know some time this week. In the meantime, I do have a job offer from the Red Cross for the Valencian Region as well as another non-profit called A.V.A.R. (Asociación Valenciana para la Ayuda a los Refugiados). We shall see...DH really wants to return to Madrid. Since we are entering the summer, there really isn´t a whole lot of rush since business won´t pick up again until September. I am happy to say, however, that the three interviews that I had in Madrid were much more like real job interviews. Especially the one for Greenpeace in which I was grilled for an hour and a half on my fundraising experience.
It´s time to close and begin my housewifely duties … hopefully I will be able to hang out the laundry without losing another article of clothing!
Peace to all!
With the arrival of summertime come some of the most world known Spanish festivals. Among them San Fermín (the “Running of the Bulls”) in Pamplona and the Tomatina (the tomato fight) in Buñol, a small town in the Valencian province. Hemmingway, in his book, The Sun Also Rises, made famous the Running of the Bulls for Americans... and one trip to Pamplona would show just that...streets and bars are named after him, and during the actual week long festival, the city brims with many party goers, the largest percentage of them North Americans, specifically from the USA. Many residents of Pamplona escape from the city during this time. The fact of the matter, encierros (enclosures), as they are called in Spain, existed long before Hemmingway was born and they are a tradition that is carried out in many towns across Spain to this day. Contrary to popular belief, this tradition is not built on cruelty to animals, but is based upon the act of bringing the bulls from the pasture to the bull ring, either to sell or to participate in a bullfight. The mozos (the herdsmen), who train throughout the year for this incredible movement, run with the bulls to keep them on their path, always respecting their space and respecting the bull. Over the years, this tradition in Pamplona has become an international spectacle, encouraging a sense of false bravado in partygoers...a bravado that is only enhanced by the consumption of alcohol and extreme levels of exhaustion from having partied all night long. In 1998 (just before meeting Angel), I was in Pamplona for this festival. While I admit that it is a party worth experiencing once in a lifetime, it is also the most grotesque display of excessiveness that you could ever see. Perhaps Mardi Gras in Río de Janeiro would rival it. Every year, the Spanish newspapers fill with articles about the foreigners who come to party and then run with the bulls and every year, without fail, there are serious injuries, among them, Americans. This year a 29 year old woman from New Jersey suffered a foot long cornado (gored by the horn) in her thigh as well as serious head injuries. Imagine her story when she goes back home...”how I spent my summer vacation”. People don´t give a second thought to the danger of running with the bulls when they haven´t trained for it. Each bull weighs around 1,860 lbs…and there are 11 of them that are released into the streets. I had a prime seat, on the ground on just the other side of the fence. I could hear and feel the bulls coming long before they actually passed in front of me.. Just imagine..20,500 lbs of fear, confusion and fury running down wet, cobblestoned streets that twist and turn their way to the bullring...and you are going to throw yourself in front of THAT? WHAT ARE THEY THINKING?!! Apparently many Americans think it´s a great idea so much that there is actually a Running of the Bulls in (Reno I think) Nevada.
To answer the several of you who wrote me asking what the heck was a Vespa, here you can see exactly what I am talking about.
These motor bikes are not nearly as large or powerful as motorcycles, but are similar in terms of danger both to the riders as well as car drivers. They are very popular throughout Spain and Italy for a number of reasons...they are an economical and efficient way of getting around congested city streets and consume little gas, as well, the Mediterranean climate lends itself to this form of transportation. Everyone rides them from the messengers, to the pizza delivery boy, to businessmen with their briefcases, to grandmas with their grandkids (either the grand kid giving Grandma a lift or viceversa if the granchild is very young!).
Return of the prodigal sleeping bag
Remember the sleeping bag that fell to my dismay 3 stories down and got caught on the clothesline of a vacant flat? Well, turns out that the owner of the flat is from Madrid and has come to town to vacation...I was able to rescue the bag just in time for our camping trip to the Pyrenees this summer. However, just yesterday, a placemat decided to jump out of my hands and has faced the same fate, dangling from the clothesline from our neighbors on the second floor. I paid them a visit yesterday, but there was no answer. With my luck, they are from Gandía and have left town for the summer to escape the arrival of all the tourists.
Gandía...the town where everyone knows your name
Are you looking for someone specific? Go to the local “hot spot” or gossip center and you will be able to find their whereabouts very easily. That´s what Rosa did. I spoke with Rosa on the phone a few weeks ago, expressing interest in volunteering for an organization that she is involved with. How excited she was. I told her I would call when I came back from my quick visit to the USA. Two days after coming back, my arms laden with bags from the grocery store, I hear a woman call my name and wave wildly to me from across the street. “Who the heck??...” I thought to myself as this strange woman came running up and gave me the customary kiss on each cheek, talking a mile a minute as if she knew me all her life. Turns out that it was Rosa. She tracked down my address and went, where else?, but to the bakery and asked the breadwoman if she knew who I was or how she could find me. Heaven help me! Just my luck that I am coming out of the grocery store while this is happening so breadwoman simply pointed me out.
Gandía has a McDonalds!
Yep, that´s right, just in time for all the vacationing Madrileños who wouldn´t want to leave their urban lifestyle behind. It just opened the other day, and has a new international menu featuring the McSahara, McAustralia, and McMexico sandwiches. Don´t ask, I don´t even want to know. I´m waiting for my Venezuelan brother, Angelo, and his wife to come visit. They will be here in about two weeks, for both business and pleasure. The purpose of his visit? To see the possibilities of opening a “Churro Express”. Churros are Spanish pastries that are typically eaten with a mug of thick hot chocolate. (Thick like pudding thick). That tradition went with the explorers to “the new world” and now the modern day Venezolanos are bringing it back to Spain by way of franchise. Maybe Gandía will have one soon…
My job search oddessy has taken me into Madrid for three different interviews...each opportunity very interesting...Avanade – as marketing manager for Spain, Editorial Plana – as an international sales executive, and Greenpeace Spain – for fundraising. The first company closed its search since the current manager has decided to stay on. Editorial Plana would have been dream job for a year or so if I weren´t married. It involved international travel 11 months of the year interviewing presidents and heads of states around the world for advertising supplements for the Washington Post, Financial Times and other internationally known publications. I am hoping to be called back for a second interview for Greenpeace and should know some time this week. In the meantime, I do have a job offer from the Red Cross for the Valencian Region as well as another non-profit called A.V.A.R. (Asociación Valenciana para la Ayuda a los Refugiados). We shall see...DH really wants to return to Madrid. Since we are entering the summer, there really isn´t a whole lot of rush since business won´t pick up again until September. I am happy to say, however, that the three interviews that I had in Madrid were much more like real job interviews. Especially the one for Greenpeace in which I was grilled for an hour and a half on my fundraising experience.
It´s time to close and begin my housewifely duties … hopefully I will be able to hang out the laundry without losing another article of clothing!
Peace to all!
Wednesday, June 06, 2001
Spanish Economy 101 and my Job Search
I was going to send this out last week, but as they say in Spain...mañana, mañana...I will do it mañana (tomorrow). I have been really busy here doing much of nothing.. …I take nice walks on the beach, am learning to drive stick shift, have been busy seeking volunteer opportunities, and have been introduced into the wonderful world of job seeking here in Spain.
I went grocery shopping today and spent 1,188 pesetas, or 7.14 Euros...in layman’s terms, a little over $6.00. Woo-hoo...I had to buy a few things that we needed at home. This is what $6.00 got me: bread (think long French baguette), a dozen medium sized eggs, 100 grams of smoked salmon, 1 kilo ground coffee, 1 liter of olive oil and 1 kilo popcorn kernels. Not bad eh?? That little purchase would have cost me about $15.00 (estimate) in the USA. Grocery shopping is relatively economical here. Other things are quite expensive. Gasoline, for example, costs .82 cents a liter. There are roughly 2.5 liters in a gallon (please correct me if I am wrong...I am trying to get these measurements down). That means a gallon of gas costs $2.05. Ouch. That’s rough when you consider that the median salary here is about half of what it is in the USA. Which explains why everyone drives such tiny cars here...and why everyone walks when they can...and why Vespas are so popular. Teenagers don’t drive cars here, they drive Vespas...and boy are they dangerous...
Who would have guessed that it would cost about $500 for me to get my driver’s license here in Spain? That’s not the worst part, the worst is that I have to learn how to drive stick shift amidst all those darn Vespas. I feel like pied piper with all those rats around me. They take the pedestrian crossings here seriously. If someone is waiting to cross in the ped walk, you stop. New Jersey is a great state...beaches (although they don’t compare to the ones here), casinos and those lovely circles and jug handles. I really hated those circles and jug handles...I figured once I got to Spain, I wouldn’t see them again. Silly me. Learning to drive stick shift and making my way around those circles without cutting off those annoying Vespas or running down the “marujas” with their baby strollers will be the death of me yet (or them..).
Speaking of the “marujas” (housewives) with their babies, I am continually amazed at the preference that dogs are given here. They are treated like babies too. The dog of choice here is anything small and yappy. UGH...for those of you who know me well... ha ha ha.. These dogs are everywhere, in the drug stores, the drycleaners, the grocery store, on their owners´ laps on the park benches, in those tiny elevators...wherever its owner is, the dog is. No kidding, I have seen dogs here smaller than the cat that my parents own. What I find truly amusing are the “sandboxes” on every block. Heaven forbid one of those marujas lets her kids play in the sandbox. Think public litter boxes for dogs. Honest to God. There is even a sign posted above them sporting a picture of a dog with droplets coming from you know where. I walked past one the other day that actually had a fence around it with a gate. I guess, to offer the dog more privacy as it does its thing. Who would’ve guessed. However, damned be you if you should find toilet paper in the public restrooms...
I have sent out over 200 resumes via regular mail, online postings, through professional and personal contacts. It is standard practice (expected) that the resume/CV is accompanied with my picture (headshot) and a lot of personal information such as date of birth, marital status, age…etc. Amazing. It’s a question of waiting now…...and sending more out tomorrow, and the next day and the next. So far those efforts have scored me interviews with three different companies.
The first one that I interviewed with was for selling long distance telephone service. I milked it for all that it was worth...not because I was interested in the job, but because I wanted to get a sense of how it all works (business) here in Spain. When I was here 14 years ago, I was only concerned with meeting up with my friends, drinking coffee --or substitute any alcoholic beverage -- playing pool and seeing how many people we could fit onto a Vespa. Now it’s time for me to be serious. I scored a second interview with the company...but the guy stood me up! ¡Qué morro! (What nerve).
The second company that I interviewed with was a Spanish affiliate of a major American insurance firm. The first interview was kind of suspect...held at a hotel bar (smacked of Amway or other multi-level marketing scam)...so DH drove me and scoped out the territory from a safe distance in another part of the bar. One by one, the job aspirants were shown to a room where two different tables were set up for two different interviewers. The first guy was nice enough...asked me run of the mill text book human resources questions. He then directed me to the second guy who continued with the same line of questioning. What killed me was when he asked me if my husband knew that I was there for the interview. Ha ha ha ha!!! Machismo has not died! I did not tell him DH told me that I was given the “sex check”...when I was ushered into the room, both the interviewers checked me out head to toe from the bar (unbeknownst to me). After the first interviewer was done with me, he apparently had a conversation at the bar with the second interviewer who asked something along the lines of “is she cute?” (all this according to what DH overheard).
I am a candidate for a major fundraising position at an international non-profit. The first interview was a matter of listening to the regional president do all the talking. The second interview was with 5 presidents of the local chapters. It was more like a conversation in a bar than anything else. “Where are you from?” “You don’t look American, are you Puerto Rican?” (last time I checked, Puerto Ricans were also Americans) “Are you married?” “Do you have any kids?” (no, I have a husband and that’s enough for now). “Are you going to have any kids in the near future?” (I don’t know, are your birth control pills effective here?). What a job interview. No questions about how much money I have managed, no requests for references, special campaigns, etc. The youngest guy asked me three semi relevant questions...have I ever managed volunteers? Have I ever worked with politicians? Do I plan to live in Valencia (do you mean forever??). That was it. I had to pinch myself...then later repeat practically verbatim the interview for DH asking him if it were a real interview...he said that that´s how they go here. What´s written on the CV is believed.
Anyway, I am constantly surprised at the “laid back” and trusting attitude that everyone has here, and frankly, find it a welcome change from the rat race that was my life...even if the interviews don´t really seem to be interviews!
I went grocery shopping today and spent 1,188 pesetas, or 7.14 Euros...in layman’s terms, a little over $6.00. Woo-hoo...I had to buy a few things that we needed at home. This is what $6.00 got me: bread (think long French baguette), a dozen medium sized eggs, 100 grams of smoked salmon, 1 kilo ground coffee, 1 liter of olive oil and 1 kilo popcorn kernels. Not bad eh?? That little purchase would have cost me about $15.00 (estimate) in the USA. Grocery shopping is relatively economical here. Other things are quite expensive. Gasoline, for example, costs .82 cents a liter. There are roughly 2.5 liters in a gallon (please correct me if I am wrong...I am trying to get these measurements down). That means a gallon of gas costs $2.05. Ouch. That’s rough when you consider that the median salary here is about half of what it is in the USA. Which explains why everyone drives such tiny cars here...and why everyone walks when they can...and why Vespas are so popular. Teenagers don’t drive cars here, they drive Vespas...and boy are they dangerous...
Who would have guessed that it would cost about $500 for me to get my driver’s license here in Spain? That’s not the worst part, the worst is that I have to learn how to drive stick shift amidst all those darn Vespas. I feel like pied piper with all those rats around me. They take the pedestrian crossings here seriously. If someone is waiting to cross in the ped walk, you stop. New Jersey is a great state...beaches (although they don’t compare to the ones here), casinos and those lovely circles and jug handles. I really hated those circles and jug handles...I figured once I got to Spain, I wouldn’t see them again. Silly me. Learning to drive stick shift and making my way around those circles without cutting off those annoying Vespas or running down the “marujas” with their baby strollers will be the death of me yet (or them..).
Speaking of the “marujas” (housewives) with their babies, I am continually amazed at the preference that dogs are given here. They are treated like babies too. The dog of choice here is anything small and yappy. UGH...for those of you who know me well... ha ha ha.. These dogs are everywhere, in the drug stores, the drycleaners, the grocery store, on their owners´ laps on the park benches, in those tiny elevators...wherever its owner is, the dog is. No kidding, I have seen dogs here smaller than the cat that my parents own. What I find truly amusing are the “sandboxes” on every block. Heaven forbid one of those marujas lets her kids play in the sandbox. Think public litter boxes for dogs. Honest to God. There is even a sign posted above them sporting a picture of a dog with droplets coming from you know where. I walked past one the other day that actually had a fence around it with a gate. I guess, to offer the dog more privacy as it does its thing. Who would’ve guessed. However, damned be you if you should find toilet paper in the public restrooms...
I have sent out over 200 resumes via regular mail, online postings, through professional and personal contacts. It is standard practice (expected) that the resume/CV is accompanied with my picture (headshot) and a lot of personal information such as date of birth, marital status, age…etc. Amazing. It’s a question of waiting now…...and sending more out tomorrow, and the next day and the next. So far those efforts have scored me interviews with three different companies.
The first one that I interviewed with was for selling long distance telephone service. I milked it for all that it was worth...not because I was interested in the job, but because I wanted to get a sense of how it all works (business) here in Spain. When I was here 14 years ago, I was only concerned with meeting up with my friends, drinking coffee --or substitute any alcoholic beverage -- playing pool and seeing how many people we could fit onto a Vespa. Now it’s time for me to be serious. I scored a second interview with the company...but the guy stood me up! ¡Qué morro! (What nerve).
The second company that I interviewed with was a Spanish affiliate of a major American insurance firm. The first interview was kind of suspect...held at a hotel bar (smacked of Amway or other multi-level marketing scam)...so DH drove me and scoped out the territory from a safe distance in another part of the bar. One by one, the job aspirants were shown to a room where two different tables were set up for two different interviewers. The first guy was nice enough...asked me run of the mill text book human resources questions. He then directed me to the second guy who continued with the same line of questioning. What killed me was when he asked me if my husband knew that I was there for the interview. Ha ha ha ha!!! Machismo has not died! I did not tell him DH told me that I was given the “sex check”...when I was ushered into the room, both the interviewers checked me out head to toe from the bar (unbeknownst to me). After the first interviewer was done with me, he apparently had a conversation at the bar with the second interviewer who asked something along the lines of “is she cute?” (all this according to what DH overheard).
I am a candidate for a major fundraising position at an international non-profit. The first interview was a matter of listening to the regional president do all the talking. The second interview was with 5 presidents of the local chapters. It was more like a conversation in a bar than anything else. “Where are you from?” “You don’t look American, are you Puerto Rican?” (last time I checked, Puerto Ricans were also Americans) “Are you married?” “Do you have any kids?” (no, I have a husband and that’s enough for now). “Are you going to have any kids in the near future?” (I don’t know, are your birth control pills effective here?). What a job interview. No questions about how much money I have managed, no requests for references, special campaigns, etc. The youngest guy asked me three semi relevant questions...have I ever managed volunteers? Have I ever worked with politicians? Do I plan to live in Valencia (do you mean forever??). That was it. I had to pinch myself...then later repeat practically verbatim the interview for DH asking him if it were a real interview...he said that that´s how they go here. What´s written on the CV is believed.
Anyway, I am constantly surprised at the “laid back” and trusting attitude that everyone has here, and frankly, find it a welcome change from the rat race that was my life...even if the interviews don´t really seem to be interviews!
Friday, May 18, 2001
Not Working Yet. Political Observations and other chatter...
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!!
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 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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