GOAL!!!

A while back I attended a futbol match (yes, soccer) and would like to share with you my experience... it was a blast and definitely exhilarating. 

Today I worshiped at The Temple… along side thousands of other devout pais vascons. The air fills with murmurs and faint chants… people stream in… anticipation mounts. I’m welcomed into this sacred place. The grass lays green, a light rain dampens the field. A chill stings the nose but my vision clears as I enter the arena. The sky bears the residue of a passing storm… a blue begins, it creeps through the clouds… it’s time to take my seat and experience… it’s time to cheer and clap and whistle and boo and slap high-fives… I’ll twirl my scarf as the first goal materializes right in from of me. GOAL!!! A finesse cross, a header, a goal. screams. 

The rowdiest of the basques chant close and fierce. They raise banners and wave flags and shout unmentionable (and indecipherable) venom at the opposes… I join in, mimicking the gestures, the chants and am undoubtedly noticed and proclaimed as a Poser (wonder how to translate that one into Spanish). But I wear my scarf with pride. I carefully and deliberately wrap that thing around my neck, only to rip it off, waiving it wildly as a foot meets a ball meets the back of a net. Also, it just so happens I stand in the front row. Only a skinny barrier keeps me from the elite. Ever seen the streakers on t.v. running around all crazy? Yeah… I now understand the ease in which a streaker advances… hop and rock and flop… ha… I thought about trying it… I really did.

Half-time brings bocadillos and a full belly. Traditionally the devout munch on bocadillo sandwiches while preparing mind, body and spirit for the second half of the ensuing battle. I join in. I feel a part of something… more and more… I love this place… bilbao, getxo, the basque country, spain. The people, the lifestyle, the community, the countryside, the city, the cafes, the plazas, the ocean, the parks, the metro, the river… the victory! 2-0 Bilbao Athletic Club 

...agur ('goodbye' in basque)

 

a spanish symphony

hola... so this is a piece i wrote for a creative writing competition here in spain. and you might ask, "why is it not written in spanish evan?" and i respond with, "well... the only thing comparable to my wonderful way with spanish words is probably the broken cursive of a mixed up and possibly blind spanish first grader." "oh, i see," you respond. "well do you now... thanks for rubbing it in." so english it is... i decided to give it a shot and write a story inspired by some of the people i've been spending time with lately. it's my first try at writing something for a contest like this so... who knows... and i think i got a bit trigger happy with the alliteration... but the interesting thing is i wasn't really trying to season it... however, the pepper cap might have popped off for a prolonged moment... and maybe the salt's too. anyway... here's a take on friends and the spanish language.  

The Germans grace the living room. Their presence swells and enchants every nook of a comfortable apartment. Pidgins nip and twerp out a window open wide. A Basque breeze blows. The winds bring a Spanish conversation. Americans join the banter. For these people within, this second language is still yet loved and cherished and spoken with care. An array of ascents forms a melody sung by all. Among the words emerges a sound, pure in pitch and projection.

In perfect delivery and with flawless clarity, a native’s voice resounds. Its’ intonation unifies the already increasing chants. A symphony surfaces. The cultural orchestra twirls and spills and emerges from a bond that is Spain. The many stand in unity and in confidence they declare their allegiance to this glorious country. This land beckons and entices. The faces transform. The interactions and the community enlighten these lingual musicians.

The soft sounds linger, but wait, they escape through cracks forming in the walls. These mute observers stand tall as witnesses to such a momentous joy. Yet, the structures cannot contain the anthem. The tune presses outward. Through near and distant flats flows the sweet cornucopia of sound. Into the air the music dances, it sings. On the wings of a bird it propels past weathered rooftops and distant plazas. Ears perk as the pleasantries find those meandering along the harbor. Calm footsteps add a transforming beat. Along side these musical discoverers, waves crash. Now, the masterful voices gain momentum. Into a strengthening chorus they rise. Ripples fly out to sea where Spaniards row, oh they glide. With rising energy, the voices fill a flapping sail. In response, the skipper steers onward farther and farther into the blue. In the distance with flashes of lightening and crashes of thunder, the playful sky announces its’ approval. These cymbals signify a composed climax. A waving maestro, the wind howls in response.

Still, the coastline beckons once more. In a fantastic display and with grand speed, the opus plays in the wake of white-capped water tumbling onward. It rises and falls and pushes forward. The sun appears through ominous clouds with rays so radiant. A warm solo of strings descends from the heavens. Tenderly, the brilliance calms the masterpiece. It quiets and begins a lazy return. It wanders the streets. Trees softly ruffle and soon it greets its’ creators once more through the welcoming window not yet closed. The voices now settle to a gentle murmur. Warm in the people’s presence, the room provides a resting place for the refrain. With a whisper, they follow it to a final note.

Yet, the symphony shall not disappear. It simmers and steeps in the hearts of these Spanish orators. With a bond formed and a suture stitched, Spain and her people, natives and adopted alike, will live on forever.  

 

 

 

an eclectic romance: songs of a soul in search of love

I’m at Glass. It’s a café right outside the center plaza in las arenas, not too far from my apartment. Today I went home early, yet I forgot my keys. A minor detail. Ever heard of karma? So, I head to a café for a few hours and my ears perk yet again as I hear a familiar tune. 'only you' and 'when a man loves a women' are resonating clearly from the loudspeakers. Mr. Bolton belts it loud. I’m feeling romantic and am looking for some Spanish chica to appear with hair flowing, etc.

And the next song is… the star wars theme song, an obvious next course of musical dynamism. Nothing makes my heart flutter more than to picture those storm troopers, Luke’s father and Chewbacca marching in unison down some long corridor to the tune of “da da da dun da da dun da da!”

The Spanish women were swooning, let me tell you.

the battle

I'm siting in the park near the abondo exit right now. I’m minding my own business, just catching up on some homework… an examin arrives soon. All of a sudden I hear honking. Thinking nothing of it I resume my research of definitions concepts etc. it is a city after all. Honking’s commonplace right? Well yes but this honking frenzy is for no common occurrence. In the middle of the road (the streets here are barely a car width wide mind you) stands a gigantic bus… one of those touring buses. Can you picture it? The autobus stands approximately 26 feet high and looks like a monster come to squash little cars that stand as dwarfs in comparison. In a sense this bus/monster/t-rex does eat these cars, at least their time… these little fiats are getting quite upset. Short, frequent honks and long drawn out groan’s of disapproval…. Move move move… goooooooo moooovvve! Coooommmme ooooonnnnn mmmoooovvve ittttt!!! The bus driver frantically looks around. He peaks out the window and a look of shock hits his face… as if he should be surprised that his twelve-ton brick has spontaneously built an insurmountable fortress, against which the peasants’ mode of attack simply reverberates off. The attack continues for quite some time… the honks miss and the gestures… well they’re useless. Victory for these burdened and now quite late individuals only arrives as the bus raises the white flag. He pulls off in defeat.

unharmed and amused I return to my book. All the while, unflinching and oblivious in his reverie, the guy passed out on the bench across the park no doubt dreams of leading great charges and of plotting great courses and of slaying evil dragons while retrieving the captives. Onward toward the city of glory… or maybe that’s just me.

I just spent the afternoon sitting on this bench in the park cerca de café iruna. Very nice.

italy, spain, and the shire

Hi all! thanks for baring with me. I just returned from Italy! I visited Rome, Florence, and Venice. wow it was an amazing time and can't wait to share a story or two from the trip with you. but for now I have a few writings I wrote awhile back and haven't had the chance to post. For now I'm back in Bilbao and I'm getting resettled for the last weeks of my journey here. I hope all of you are well and are enjoying the spring. this excerpt comes from one of my explorations along the cliffs of Getxo. thanks for reading!

I just remembered something I saw when I was walking toward sopelona.

Statement: I found the shire… ‘what?!’ ‘yes,’ a little hobbiton tucked away in the green grassy knolls of the Spanish coastline. ‘did J.R.R. Tolkien ever visit spain?’ one might ask. Well, yes in fact such a spot may just have inspired the hometown of the fantastical furry feeted dwarflings. Now, at the present time no hobbitses seem to inhabit this little dwelling, most of them likely having long since emigrated to some distant land… perhaps to the very spot in the film… perhaps. After all, the ring has now been destroyed… they’re obviously free to move about the world.

However, the residences are now home to the obvious Spanish equivalent… rats… many of those little guys scurrying around… ‘oops, gotta watch my step.’

But it’s true. The cliffs give way to grassy fortresses, properly protected by 150 foot descents and razor sharp conglomerates. just the protection little Bilbo and Frodo needed from the evil powers of Mordor.

It’s no coincidence that just down the road an unsuspecting town happens to possess the name BILBaO. Just think about it… it’s all becoming clear 

-adios only for now

 

mr. scrooge and don lucas

So, you know you’re a foreigner when even the dogs look at you funny. I’m sitting on a bench in Getxo, near the harbor. Many human glances are shot my way… nothing new. I’m used to it. (I’ve also noticed I get more stares when I were my hood up… apparently I’m some kind of hoodlum to these people). So a tiny little dog trots up. His eyes never leave me. and I picture him announcing, ‘and whoooo are you?’ ‘well apparently I’m the new village outcast… with the big letter ‘A’ slapped on my chest. thanks for rubbing it in pal’… yet I manage a polite ‘hola’ (remember the dogs here speak Spanish) he lets out a noise… a little ‘wuf’ of acknowledgment… or maybe it sounds something like, ‘humf’… he scampers off… adios pup.  

while were on the subject of spanish dogs... today i went to a travel agency to explore how to reserve trains for my return from italy with the guys (tyler included, pretty pumped about that... cant wait to see that guy). at the door of this place i'm greeted by a bit frantic, but jolly mut. As i chat with the agent, surprisingly enough mostly in spanish, Lucas does laps around the desks, and let's out little yelps as he gazes out the window dreaming of snagging one of those feisty squirrels... or what every those perros dream about. 

meeting lucas was a nice surprise and i think he actually helped me relax... my spanish seemed to appreciate it at least.     

my queen vitoria

On Saturday two weekends (come on slow poke… right?) I traveled to Vitoria, a really cool town about an hour away from Bilbao. It’s the capital of the Basque country. The city is interestingly separated into two parts: the newer, wealthier section and the older more historic part. The older part is primarily a younger demographic and the area is quite politically charged with tons of posters lining the streets and graffiti screaming at passers by … a passionate bunch, these pais vascoans (basque people).

When I arrive I see the Artium on my right. It’s Vitoria’s answer to Biblao’s Guggenheim museum (which I visited on Friday… that place is ridiculous!). The Artium’s architecture is very modern which seems to be the general motif throughout Spain, at least in the northern more metropolitan areas. I wander through the old portion of town passing hole-in-the-wall bars with tons of Spaniards coming and going and standing and conversing. I later learned that these afternoons on Saturday and Sunday in Spain are extremely unique. People share stories over pequino beers (a couple ounces) while standing and mingling in the street… a really cool time catch up about the week with friends. Yet, can’t imagine u.s. law enforcement agreeing with such activities.

Passing the old part, I enter the realm of the new. Known for it’s numerous green spaces, Vitoria has the greatest number of gardens/parks/green stuff per capita in all of Spain. Needless to say I encounter some exotic foliage and pass many open spaces. Also, I find one of the most quiet and quaint parts of town. A long, tree lined footpath makes a perfect spot for a casual walk along side other relaxed Spaniards. Mansions line the walk as do beautifully tall and trimmed trees. I find a bench (there’s gotta be more benches in Spain than in any other part of the world. those things are everywhere). I relax. I doze. I people watch. I read. I find my next destination within the city in my northern Spain travel book (thanks Dad), which proves to be a busy little café in the middle of a large plaza.

With café con leche in hand, I relax some more. I peel a naranja (orange), and again I witness little kids kicking soccer balls, hitting the occasional passerby (ha and I’m reminded… actually today I was walking in Getxo and got nailed in the head with a soccer ball! The little guys laughed out loud as the ball that bounced off my head apparently set up a goal. That’s right, I kept that thing in play… and got an assist. Oh man... couldn’t help but just started laughing really hard to myself) and I see one of the bluest sky’s as the sun begins to set.

Oh also, I cant forget about my moment of cultural duress. I’m in a restaurant/bar and I have my backpack on, unfortunately. ‘hey everyone I’m a American tourist’… great. Anyway, after asking the waitress for a table I hear, ‘hour and a half wait’… wonderful. So I approach the bar. Yet it’s pretty full so I stand directly behind someone. Now I’m sticking pretty far out into the room. I look around and for some reason the temperature suddenly increases by about ten. Soon the glances commence and the whispering begins and the discrete but obvious laughs arrive. I feel like Mculley Culkin in Home Alone after he checks Buzz into the milk and it spills everywhere. ‘look what you did you little jerk.’ All the attention and the looks and the sneers are directed at him. In that moment the whole world seems against him. Likewise, I feel all the faces, all the chuckles and the looks. Ever experienced a fight or flight moment? Well I have an extreme desire to run on out of there… as if I’ll have to sleep… in the attic… in the same bed as the cousin who wets his bed. Somehow the situation quickly turns very uncomfortable. However, I fight the urge and stand my ground. I wrestle and stuff that guy down. A few deep breaths and finally an acknowledgement from the bartender calm me. I have a bocadillo (a sandy) and a kas naranja and my moment of cultural duress subsides. It felt like some kind of training and in a way, a slight victory.

So all in all it was another great trip to another grand Spanish city.

a holiday in spain

I was in Barcelona for the weekend holiday of Carnavales. It’s similar to our Halloween in the states… a bunch of grown adults playing dress up… essentially. Here’s a tale or two from my journey.

This morning I’m sitting in an amazing little café. It’s warm and filled with people and the cranberries (no joke) are playing over the radio. Ha… the whole place sooths me. I love finding places like this one. And it’s right next to one of the famous cathedrals. Yesterday was a day of exploration.

It begins with a flight and a hostel hunt. From there I search for some food. Exploring the streets, I observe many attractive restaurants. Much of them look as I had envisioned a typical Spanish eatery. I finally choose a spacious café near the famous street of La Rambla. I’m excited to use my Spanish… especially since I’ve been seeing so many Americans. The city is very international and plenty of English is spoken. No hay problema… ‘hola sinora!’ a laugh and a ‘senora? Nooo.’ apparently an inappropriate term for such an age and in such an instance. I guess women in their thirties prefer a different term. Wups. I chuckle nervously in response. Yet again another ‘lo siento.’ But I press on. ‘Que es esto?’ ‘queso y hamon’ ‘ooh… muy bien!’ and I begin an ordering extravegansa. I’ll take this and what is that and don’t forget the café con leche! plus I even ask if I can pay with a credit card… all in Espanol… boo ya. Yet, all the while I’ve forgotten food will inevitably cost me. Racking up a fairly hefty bill, I realize learning does come at a cost… but going hungry has a price tag as well. Another smallish lego may just have been strategically situated.

The market’s up next. On La Ramba, exists one of larger markets I’ve encountered. A cornacopia of fresh fruit, legs of lamb (hanging from the rafters), and fish intently, and unflinchingly eying me… definitely winning the contest. Don’t even attempt, the flapper’ll win every time, guaranteed. Also, the delicacy I mentioned before… the piglet, yeah… I witness the pre-cooked version. Ever been to one of those ‘body works’ exhibits. Picture frying one of them up for dinner… ah yeah. Onto even more.

I approach the Picasso museum, not from some preplanned appointment but a kind of meandering through narrow streets. I pass zipping mo-pedestrians and a cathedral that though impressive on the outside does little justice for what I latter observed on the inside. Some preliminary background of my knowledge of Picasso: well… the guernica… um… so now that you have a clear understanding of my ignorance, let’s move on.

I’m enthralled for no less that quarto horas. I may have discovered my new idol. From his early age (i'm reminded of Asher Lev) his enormous talent emerged. A prodigy and a genius really. While I was out running around punting kick-balls and other people and pulling girls hair and yelling and sliding in the grass and staining myself and swinging and aaaahhhhhhh!... this youngster known only as Picasso is whipping up a few masterpieces…  He was a realist, an impressionist, a cubist, a ceramist, an engraver, a sculpture, a ladies man… yep, and for obvious reasons. Plus he had such a great appreciation for others artwork. A grand collector, Picasso packed his home with his colleagues artwork. If you’re in Barcelona, see this museum. You will be tired but you will be awestruck and intrigued and inspired and curious. This guy was a master.

The next experience was a gift. I stroll by the aforementioned cathedral (Santa Maria) on my way back to the hostel. A door’s cracked open, a hint of light creeps into darkness. It’s now nighttime, and in a symbolic fashion I’m beckoned towards the light. I tiptoe inside. My eyes adjust. My chin thrusts upwards. One hundred foot ceilings reveal even greater lengths through Spanish history. This antique structure demands my silence... my reverence. One of the pews provides me a seat for a prayer… not the typical tourist activity but the most peaceful moment of the day. Lit candles surround me, their glow permeating the nooks where the saints reside. After a couple of enchanting and elongated laps, and a few deep breaths, i step slowly to the door. Now just think about this... these amazing places of worship are created for the King, the Savior, my friend… for the one far more beautiful than these simple, yet intricately placed stones and mortar…  and how much more unbelievable is the recipient of such a stunning tribute

Later in the evening:

Now I must ask a question. What’s it like to be serenaded by an elderly Spanish gentleman? A rhetorical question. let me enlighten you. I’m sitting amongst newly acquired friends. Enjoying each other’s company we chat, sipping on some beers. hola!… up pops a partially coherent elder. With a polite cheer, ‘salude’, he raises his can. In unison we respond with an enthusiastically American outburst ‘salude!!’ With raised glasses tapping and clinking, the vocal show begins. I’m quite shocked but very impressed at the ensuing tones. He proceeds to belt lyrics of an unknown sort for in excess of two minutes. Now, mind you, all our glasses are still raised. I steal glances from the others around. I make eye contact with the Voice. I disregard the cramp forming in my arm. Absolutely incredible… with multiple octaves and pitches this guy delivers an anthem, stopping at nothing. Yet, this soundtrack regrettably comes to a close with a final note worthy of Carnegie Hall. I erupt… more glasses raise, now they smash. Claps and fist pumps (these primarily from me). After a simple nod, the man slowly retreats. Wow. What a day

I’m back now in my little apartmento in Getxo… and I did finally go shopping today. I came back with three bags filled with TONs of food. I’ve bee having trouble a) taking care of myself (I was sick last week) and b) feeding myself. Ha, but I’m getting better. After many oranges, my sniffles have diminished. The cabinets are now stocked and my belly’s full.   

the spanish coastline

Here's a little look into my past... this takes place last friday: 

the coastline is my objective. The sky looks fairly ominous as I adventure from my humble abode on Gobelaurre in las Aranas. Yet, again I welcome whatever’s ahead of me. My travels take me through unknown streets and past nuevo parts of Gexto. The whole time the ocean’s apparent gravitational pull beckons me near. Ah, there she is… I look down from an elevated park as theological ponderings emerge. God has been so evident throughout this Spanish experience so far. He continues to reveal Himself to me… He’s on my mind as I press onward. Up a hill, towards a cliff, through the woods toward’s my Father’s majesty I go… I find little pathways meandering beside the cliff, and secluded turns directing me towards spectacular vistas. Yet, all the while the clouds linger above me. the view is somewhat diminished but no less appreciated.

As I continue, I see a dog off in the distance. Some background: there are these water fountains that appear randomly on the side of roads/side walks, both animals and humans drink from them. So, this dog trots over. He wags his tail, his butt moving with anticipation as he steals glances toward his owner as if to say: 'daddy daddy, aqua, aqua, aqua… pooor favoor!!!' El hombre strolls over… water flows, el perro laps it up. He lets out a little yelp of satisfaction… it’s the small pleasures in life, right? I miss my dogs.

I’m walking on an incredibly long path towards a town called sopalana. It’s a small neighborhood perched on the hill.

So… a suggestion: when traveling to Spain bring along two recreational devices… a mountain bike and golf clubs… along the path many bike trails emerge. I watch a gentleman easily navigating the trail along the cliff. The look of confidence on his face gives an impression of experience. However, I realize this aptitude did not in fact exist. As he tumbles to the ground, with yells of Spanish exclamations… I think to myself, ‘oh goodness, is he vale (ok)?’ Well yes, with true Spanish resiliency he stands to his feet and without a nod to my American curiosity brushes himself off… ‘vamonos.’ Onward.

Also, the golf course on my derecha, with it’s yards, excuse me, its’ meters of tightly mown green grass, entices me. Yet my attention soon returns to the ocean’s call… actually, quite literally a call … On the edge of the cliff, a large nautical mechanism stands tall before me. It belches out a series of long ‘buuurrrrhhh’s. It yells to the multiple sailboats off shore. Well at the time this seemed somewhat interesting... 

I wander some more, and the setting sun and the increasing chill in the air recommend I meander back to the homestead. Soon I see Fabrice off in the distance; that’s a surprise. Us lonesome travelers reunite and rest the hooves at a little café down the road. We proceed to talk in Espanol for the next half an hour. It’s a very simple conversation, but very practical. At this point I possess a treasure chest… of sorts… of words and phrases. I mix and match to form various sentences. Yet, have no fear, my arsenal grows.

Also... that same night brings a new experience in an old venue. I meet Fabrice’s intercambio (language partner) and her friend. We go to ‘fever,’ a discotec. I dance. I meet another Spaniard. She asks me for fuego (a light). Loud music and a language barrier combine for quite the challenge. Finally, I entiendo and she asks me where I’m from. We talk, or rather yell at each other for quite sometime, exchanging the basics. I speak mostly in Spanish, she often responds in English. We both practice. She introduces her friends; I say many ‘encantada’s… The interaction is very encouraging. I’m beginning to meet some locals and possibly have an opportunity for further friendships.

On a more personal note, I’ve been attempting to pray to God some in Spanish... i don't known, there's something about it... incredible... one of the most rewarding experiences yet. 

and my barcelona excursion is still being inscribed... gracias por tu pathiencia 

and one more thing... in a way this process of blogging really makes me feel more connected to all of you... thanks for reading

...continued

Wandering, I notice a man in a store… ‘hola’ I say as I always do… (oh, don’t you worry, I’ve

mastered the greeting) ‘oh hola, que tal!!!’ He responds. interesting, an unusually kind response. He’s a Pakistani storeowner. He invites me in for tea… why not. The thought of being roofied only occurred to me as he prepared an unknown concoction behind a curtain and out of sight. Ha… I survive (he turned out to be a very nice guy. Just kind of lonely I think). I soon press onward.

My exploration brings me to a cross roads… I need to ask someone where this next hotel is located. Plus I’m eager to use the three Spanish phrases I have been repeating in my head for such a time as this. I ask a Spanish gentleman. ‘Perdon senior’… ‘Si’? He corrects me on my Spanish, and says ‘do you speak English’… ‘ha’…a chuckle… ‘well yes’ (unfortunately for me these days) ‘but allow me to practice?’ a smile ‘si, go ahead’ I nailed the next two sentences and he responded in Spanish, kindly translating as he went. My confidence level greatly increased following this interaction. My Spanish teacher explains the language as a bunch of interconnected legos… I felt as if this sequence placed a foundational two or three knobbed lego at the base of my eventual castle. Just give me time…

I scale stairs, pass streets, nod to old ladies out strolling, pass bus stops, ponder my direction, change directions, pass the same bus stop… then I arrive at a hospital… hum, I guess that’s close to a hotel but, for various reason’s I’d rather not end up there. As I’m about to flaunt my three phrases to another unsuspecting passer by, I progress literally four steps. And, what do you know, here’s the hotel. Perfecto! An amazing panoramic view of the city and coastline welcomes me as well as a 90 year old trooper out for a stole at the speedy pace of .1 kph… cane in hand… a determined senor.

            Half of the mission is now complete. The other lies ahead of me. My eyes lead my feet for the remainder of the afternoon. To the ocean, to the pier, to the harbor, to a futbal field, to the bridge, and to a bar called bar derby back in las arenas (my neighborhood in getxo). ‘Quiero uno café con lache, pro favor. Garcias’. I’m convinced I will forever be a coffee drinking after this experience. Muy delicioso… plus enough caffeine to properly enlighten the brain. 

I sit outside with a few others mingling. The place soon explodes. Spaniards everywhere. Spain provides such an example of community. Whole families congregate and enjoy each other’s company. None of that baby-sitting junk. It’s a friends and family affair. The parents chat. The little dudes ride tricycles around like nascar’s… screaming and running into things/people. Los Perros excitedly bark from all the hubbub, while snatching the occasionally dropped crumb. All were living. I sip my café and read some Hemingway. I say a few ‘hola’s to the 2 toddlers racing back and forth from their parents to my table. I catch a few words from nearby tables. Two hours pass. The lifestyle’s contagious. Ladies and Gentlmen… I am in Spain

Barcelona...

¡Hola! ok, I promise i´ll finish the rest of my last post when i get back to bilbao. but for now a little update. i´m in Barcelona! the city´s amazing... i´m here for the carnavales holiday. i´ve been strolling the streets, exploring the picasso musium, cathedrals and the nightlife! I´ve been writing some and will be sure to ellaborate shortly. Adios from Barcelona!

a day in the life...

A new day. Yesterday, (which was last Friday) the exploration continued. The previous few days were a bit rough. Still adjusting to life at the university and attempting cooking and living on my own etc. But yesterday’s presence greatly lifted my spirits.

I was on a two part mission: the research of two hotels in the area across the river, for when my parents visit in may… and to get lost. The day began as I crossed the peude colgante, one of first high rise pedestrian accessible bridges in Europe. I browsed the little informational plaque written in four different languages. The translation enlightened me… it was built in the year 1907… and other facts that are escaping me right now. Multiple languages get confusing.

Passing under the tape, I made a dash for the bridge’s elevator. My decision proved fruitless considering it was suspended 160 feet above me… I pushed the button expecting my get away vehicle to descend from such a great height, taking me far above those chasing me with, ‘stop.’ Yet apparently an elevator key is needed to command such a get away. So from my mouth streamed lou siento, low siento, no entiendo. I backed away and moved on. (ok I guess this is a tad bit exaggerated)

My foot stopped on the other side of the river not by my own physical means but by cables suspending a large ferry-type boat contraption. The other side of the river from Getxo provides a spectacular view of the harbor and the coastline. With ear buds in place, my music intensified the feeling of awe. Soon on my way, searching but at the same time wandering, I approached the first hotel. I entered confidently, exchanged ‘hola’s with the attractive concierge, and moved in a direction I presumed appropriate, unfortunately this direction landed me in the presence of many other Spaniards, a meeting of some sort… more ‘lo siento’s. A nice place… I reappeared outside, picked a direction, I’m off. (to be continued... i forgot to upload my pictures. so those are on their way too)

a little drummer boy

You know you’re in Spain when the long-haired, prepubescent boy band Hanson blares on the radio… The Spanish seem to love American music… some of our old stuff is popular as well as the immediate classic, rhiona… remixed… yes. 

The past weekend revolved around the drum. Tamborria, the famous San Sebastian (above) fiesta blew my mind. The celebration began at midnight in the plaza de centro with drummers dressed in either chef or Spanish military garb. The mosh pit ate me alive. Swaying and chanting in unison… I yelled to songs I didn’t know and lyrics I didn’t understand. I think this is what I’ve been wanting. It’s the adventure of a new experience. I felt a part of something grand and alive. I found myself jumping in time with thousands of other incredibly impassioned san sebastians. I can’t believe the energy… nothing in the U.S I’ve experienced comes close… maybe times square for new years but even then… and actually i've never been to new york on years so...  

here's a shot from the center plaza

a bit lagged

I'm trying to keep a running commentary of my experiences. It's taking me some time to post them however. This is an excerpt from the day after i arrived in Bilbao:

The day began at 1700 with a sunset. Jetlag’s a bugger. Catching one last glimpse of the sun… and scratching my head, I wonder… ‘now what’? The guys and I decide food is in order. But wait how do I order food? I… grab my Spanish phrase book, obv! Looking very Spanish in my pea coat and new sperrys, I, accompanied by two American gentlemen, venture out in search of some culture. I find it around every corner and on every face and in restaurant. Espana… I now sit sipping a drink labeled calimocho. (make sure you pronounce the ch as a th… yep, the famous Spanish lisp)(( I know now that’s actually incorrect)). Ingredients: Vino (1.85 euros a bottle at the local supermarcado) and Coca Cola. Muy bien. The discovery continues… can’t wait to see what the future holds… I hope all of you are discovering adventure amidst your own journey  

the arrival

So, within treinta minutes of my arrival in Bilbao, I pretty much exhausted all of my known Spanish phrases. In my attempt to hail a taxi, I used approximately two-fifths of my vocabulary, which mind you is somewhere close to forty… maybe forty-five words. The challenges seemed only to exponentially increase. (some pictures of getxo to keep you interested)

 Yes indeed… our cab driver did get lost. Somewhere among the multiple circles around the round-about, the “I lost… I mucho lost” streaming from the cabby, and the perpetual moments of déjà vu, I realized our apartment may not exist. Also, I may owe this taxi close to 100 Euros. Como ce dice turn the meter off? Oh well. We finally made it. Great we can finally move in… correction… no we cannot.

With the Landlord nowhere in sight, I and the Bilbao boys aimlessly meander about with dos fifty plus pound bags. Huh… now what… oh, 

after stumbling through hola como estas… soy estudianta… quiero la gerente (manager)? We’re directed to the Mon Cheri… am I even in Spain… I am?… ok good… fortunately Senor John speaks Ingles. This guy was a life-saver… and like the candy, sweet… but slightly more useful. Soon calls are made and received and the apartment door unlocked by a gentleman and scholar named Jose. What a relief and a learning experience. (in bilbao) A point of clarification: I live in a suburb outside of Bilbao called Getxo.

            That night we painted the town red with Jose as our tour guide. Jose speaks no English. Reminder: I will learn… Here I go! Ps… Jose showed us a phone booth, 5 cents a minute to call to the states. Verbal communication will commence. 

over the atlantic

First lesson. question: Hola Como estas? answer: Muy Bien. Hey everyone… My adventure thus far has proven very eventful. I arrived in Bilbao just yesterday (now about about a week ago). A recap: Denver to Philly. In Philly, with a smile on my face, I strolled towards the international terminal. I saw the two gentlemen I would spend the next few months… an even larger smile and a couple hugs. We’re on our way! I mean look at the two bozos I get to share my wanderlust with… (the getxo coast)  

A moment later, I’m in line eagerly awaiting my adventure. Across the loud speaker a lady addresses us in Spanish… hun… no entiendo… I nervously laugh as I hop on the plane. I could be in trouble. 

Immediately put to rest, I sit next to a Dutch princess by the name of Heidi who hails not from the land of wooden clogs but from the golden state of California… her and I chat about school, (she’s at Cal Baptist), common acquaintances at Westmont, our inexperience with the language, where we’re studying (her in Seville) and how we welcome with anticipation a young Spanish delicacy know only as… Piglet. Her company was much appreciated and enjoyed. 

a boy in a candy store

Hey everyone... internet has been an interesting challenge... the posts will definitely be more consistent once i establish a wifi (pronounced "wefe in espanol) connection in the apartment. I have a couple of posts saved on my computer about my first few days... those will be up soon, hopefully. But for now, a quick update:

I'm in san sebastian! The grandest fiesta of the year begins tonight. The whole city takes to the streets to bang on drums either dressed as chefs or spanish soldiers... one can easily see the connection. Undoubtedly very rowdy, very loud and very fun... and the city is incredible! Pictures are on their way shortly. The guys and I strolled the city, sipped a cafe con lache and were undoubtedly labeled tourists by many passers by... with our cameras and googli eyes and our numerous 'wow's. The whole experience is still so surreal.  Can't wait see what tonight has in store! Adios!... for now. 

ps. looks like Spain (for obvious reasons) victoriously snatched the popular vote with... two votes... out of five... awesome  

...

I'm just sitting here, it's lunchtime. Wondering about the future, I munch on my sandwich .. umm .. deep. It's snowing outside my window... soon enough I will be flying far above any such flakes, heading towards my future, my destination... my epic... this is my wanderlust. 

The Beginning...

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, toddlers and infants... Welcome! Thanks for listening in... can't wait to share the next few months with you as my spanish adventure unfolds. Feel free to join in with comments, travel suggestions, stories, existential ponderings, etc. and I'm always available at ecrowley@westmont.edu... so let it begin!