Burger King out of Control

Dear Reader,

One of the more striking experiences of Spain so far was something that I expected to be bland. I was in Barcelona waiting around for an activity to start, when some friends proposed food. Their idea was that we would go eat at Burger King.

Being a glutton for new things, I had daydreamed of some tiny, tastefully arranged cafe with a kindly old woman who made sandwiches and other assorted tasties. Cutting into that daydream was the American conception of Burger King. Piercing bright lines, cold AC, extremely dissatisfied employees, fries that seem impervious to aging, meat of unidentified and unrecognizable origins, reasonable prices – essentially the whole fast food shtick in a bundle - nothing new.

I like to consider myself reasonable though, so I went along with the plan.

The interior was a surprise. Some things were normal, it had the same glaring lights and tiled ceiling that can be expected of your typical fast food joint. Everything else was more or less different. The interior decorating was polished dark wood. The building was multiple stories, with a balcony overlooking the main eating area. The menu had similar items, but at much, much higher prices. Some of the burgers were around nine Euros, and a meal for one could pretty easily run twelve to fifteen. (The exchange rate is around 1.35 dollars to the Euro right now.) Most differently, there were customers.

Now in a Seattle Burger King, you could reasonably expect to see clients. On a good day there might be fifteen or twenty. People come, get their food quickly, and then leave that forsaken place with due reverence to the delicious yet oh-so-bad-for-you pile of something digesting in their bellies. At the Burger king in Barcelona there were seventy or more people just hanging out. What?

I'll chalk it up to conversations being longer.

Signing out,
Tim

Vending machines

Dear reader,

Even if America is utterly failing many of the important tests of a good society, our vending machines and ATMs are still superb.

I went to the bank with my good friend Skyler the other day to withdraw some funds, and was prompted to take money out in euro amounts of 20, 40, 70, 90, and 110. On entering a number, I discovered that the machine only vends in 50 euro amounts. It worked out eventually, but you get the idea.

Later I was really, really thirsty and saw some deliciously cold looking bottles of Aquarus (read sugar-water)filling the bottom five slots of a vending machine. I put in 1.50 euros in the form of two coins and tried the first of the Aquarus slots, "E1". The response was "Producto agotado", or sold out. I could see the golden fleece of refreshment right there, but could not have it. "E2" yielded the same sad result, and so did all of the other combinations for beverages in the machine. Defeated and parched, I asked for my money back, and heard a procession of whirring and clinking.

Instead of two coins, I was paid back in 20 and 5 cent pieces, tending towards 5. I dejectedly put my fistful of coins into my wallet and went back to class.

Count yourselves lucky for your swiftly delivered vitamin water,
Tim W

Words that are slightly, awkwardly different

So reader,

Not unlike those silly, foppish, British words like boot, some Spanish words take on different connotations in different countries. It turns out that the Spanish taught in American schools is of the "Learn South American Spanish so that you'll be able to converse with South American Spanish speakers" variety. This is giving me some anxiety, because last time I checked there was not exactly a bevy of Spaniards hanging out in the nooks and crannies of Seattle, and there are some small yet important conversational fineries that I am busy learning the incorrect side of.

Take the verb "coger".

It is used to mean to get or to take here. Coger el autobus, coger su mochilla, coger... Very common, very normal. In Mexico it would get the bleep bloop treatment on TV. Now if you get super adjusted to just blurting it out, imagine what's going to happen when casually asking for someone's stapler back in Seattle.

As they say, !UF!,
Tim

FOILED AGAIN!!!

Dear readers,

I accidentally set my alarm to 7:35 Pm, got up from a nap in a bleary confusion thinking that I had slept nearly 14 hours, raced through all my morning rituals, and nearly sprinted a quarter mile towards my bus stop before realizing that while the sky and outside area had the right color and brightness level, there were too few people and it was getting darker. At least I made dinner quickly and got some exercise before bed!

Zounds.
Tim

The sobering warning against procrastination provided by Goerge R.R. Martin

We all like to hold off on important things now and then, but I think that it sometimes takes one good example to get us to break our inactive lull.

A perfect such story revolves around the author Goerge R.R. Martin. He writes "A Song of Ice and Fire", an ongoing fantasy series winning multiple awards, topping multiple best seller lists, and now the subject of an upcoming HBO show.

His writing builds a world of real characters fighting for their own ends where tragic things come and go without any greater significance. So many things about it, the descriptions, the plot, the sense of excitement and suspense that Martin seems to have cultivated an instinct for breeding make it wonderful.

He is only on the 4th book of seven, each being close to 1,000 pages depending on the format, and the series has already taken him years. He is 61 and some fans fear that he may die before completing the stories.

That would be one of the greater tragedies for fantasy readers, and at the least, he may no longer be writing in his peak form when he concludes the story.

What does this mean to us? Martin had and has the talent to leave humanity with a unique contribution, and this is jeopardized by how late in his career he began the works.

Get something done right away : ).

As for me, I have time to finally see to some writing now that I am in Spain, and that is wonderful.

Best,
Tim

Bonus: Martin does all of his writing on a bare-bones DOS only computer with no internet connection. Talk about a good idea to remove the Facebook plague?

One of the coolest fifty rocks on planet earth

Dear readers,

This weekend I had the fortune to visit a medieval market, see Spanish Saturday nightlife, and try a healthy sampling of good food. I may talk about these things later if time permits, but not tonight. Other topics have lost their spots because today we explored what is definitely one of the coolest fifty rocks on the planet.

That's a pretty big claim Tim, you may think, but I intend to support it.

The rock to which I refer is the Peñon de Ifach in Calpe, Spain. The Peñon's form towers hundreds of feet above the Medeterain lapping against its base, and represents the most prominent object in its host town. What makes it remarkable is the hike to its summit. We took many pictures, which I will add as soon as possible, but for now to give you an idea, check it out on Google images.

Walking towards the rock, we realized how enormous it was, and how completely unhikable its rocky face appeared. It would have been cool enough to just look at the lovely beach beneath it, and marvel at the sheer face, but we soon discovered a visitor trail going up to the base of its spire.

At the top of the trail as it turned out, there was a tunnel going into the rock, and on the other side of the tunnel, a trail winding for miles up to its top. The ensuing hike was far more involved than we had expected, but featured views that made me feel almost guilty that most my friends were just waking up in their college dorms back in the states.

The non-sheer cliff side is a steep, steep hill with a rope guided path lazing along it, and foliage turning what would otherwise be a sometimes terrifying walk into a manageable undertaking. In late afternoon, when we scaled it, the foliaged side is entirely shaded by the summit's high ridge. The bleached white rocks are set against a background of scraggly trees lit by flaring sun through their branches, and hundreds of seagulls cruise on a sea breeze floating across perfectly blue water. It's really not fair that people actually live next to this.

When we got to the top, we suddenly looked over the maybe 1000 foot cliff we had earlier examined from below, and saw a group of climbers who had just completed the scale. We shared some oranges and took pictures, then continued on our way to avoid having to descend in darkness.

We were rushed at the end to reach or tram, and had to walk several miles in the dark, but when we reached the tram station, a pub was still open and we enjoyed warm pastries and chorizo sandwiches to some excellent Spanish music.

To be adequately effusive, I'm not sure that the day could have gone better.

Now why are other rocks not as sweet as this one? Well first of all, it is pretty big, so that of course means that it has better than the smaller rocks (I've gotta stick to my American roots somehow right?). Now that we've eliminated those scrawny underdogs, what remains are the really big rocks (Let's call mountains also rocks). They take too long to hike, and are only marginally more gorgeous at best. Therefore these rocks are also worse, and the Peñon wins.

The biggest lesson from this came while I reflected on the morning. I was moments away from rolling over and going to sleep. In general, don't go back to sleep.

Sleep is for the weak; who needs good rest and the sound reasoning that follows when we can walk on cool rocks instead?
Tim

Piropos: Or Hey Bay-B the acceptable version?

So I'm told that it is really sexist and inappropriate to yell at women in the street about their physical appearance in the states. This doesn't really apply in Spain were they have "piropos".

This is basically a form of accepted catcalling as far as I can observe. It hasn't been incredibly common since my arrival, but then again I am also not a woman, and the ones with whom I walk aren't alone. If a tree falls in a forest...?

Here's a basic dialogue that would happen:

Enter attractive blond Spanish woman
Attractive blond woman walks down street with chin held high and slight frown on face. Ignores passers by, staring ahead, and makes no eye contact with men.

Enter Spaniard male on other side of street. Smiling and looking at attractive blond woman.

Attractive blond woman:
Spaniard male: !Que rubia!
Attractive blond woman:

Attractive blond woman keeps walking past, Spaniard male turns and looks behind him, then grins and keeps walking.

Today in a gender/culture studies class that I am taking to get some distribution credits through Whitman, our teacher finally explained this oddity to me. Evidently during Franco's regime (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francisco_Franco), women were not permitted to meet men in public. Only when a couple were married could they travel together outside of the home. To accomplish some kind of flirting, the men, forced to walk on the opposite side of the street from the women, would yell out complements and such.

The tradition survived, and now it is common. In the right tone and context piropos can be taken as flattery. Now you know.

Informatively,
Tim