Dear reader,
You may have noticed that I have been posting relatively few photographs. Well good news! My battery charger for my Lumix camera arrived in the mail today! I can now take as many pictures as I see fit, and will happily be adding some to this blog. This is exciting, get excited, woooo! (For what it is worth, I have had work, even it was limited, in photography, which last time I checked would make me a pro. So there.)
That is all for now,
Tim
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Shortness
Dear readers,
Two days a week a vibrant, crawling market opens in the streets around my apartment complex. The air smells of vegetables, pastries, and fresh fruit, and the happy tones of hundreds of conversations float around in the spring breeze. Walking through the market today I noticed something that, while having seen before, I had not really considered.
Nearly everyone in this part of Spain over the age of 40 is very, very short. I saw this because I was able to look from one end of the market to the other, over hundreds of people, without any real trouble. There are for the most part only old people in my market, and it appears that the average height is around 5`2`` or lower.
I briefly asked my host mother about this, and she agreed on the fact, mentioning that in many other parts of Spain the people are older, but did not seek to explain why. I have no idea either. More interestingly, the younger children in this part of Spain are substantially taller than their parents. Maybe the nutrition in the Spanish adolescent diet has substantially improved since the time of Franco?
At the least I get to feel like Tom Cruise probably did with his Japanese cast in the last Samurai for once,
Tim
Two days a week a vibrant, crawling market opens in the streets around my apartment complex. The air smells of vegetables, pastries, and fresh fruit, and the happy tones of hundreds of conversations float around in the spring breeze. Walking through the market today I noticed something that, while having seen before, I had not really considered.
Nearly everyone in this part of Spain over the age of 40 is very, very short. I saw this because I was able to look from one end of the market to the other, over hundreds of people, without any real trouble. There are for the most part only old people in my market, and it appears that the average height is around 5`2`` or lower.
I briefly asked my host mother about this, and she agreed on the fact, mentioning that in many other parts of Spain the people are older, but did not seek to explain why. I have no idea either. More interestingly, the younger children in this part of Spain are substantially taller than their parents. Maybe the nutrition in the Spanish adolescent diet has substantially improved since the time of Franco?
At the least I get to feel like Tom Cruise probably did with his Japanese cast in the last Samurai for once,
Tim
Monday, March 28, 2011
Something disturbing from Madrid
Dear Reader,
And then I saw him eating the baby. (There's your teaser, and now for the less interesting lead-in.)
Tonight was planned as an early-to-bed night, but I started reading an article on one of my favorite games, Magic the Gathering, by a young writer by the name of Gavin Verhey. Gavin's writing style features a unique mix of obnoxiously trumpeted talent and seeming hubris with actual skill. I don't know whether to think “Burn the witch!”, or “Hey cool” when I read his stuff, but it engages readers at least. For reference the original article is online here: http://www.starcitygames.com/magic/misc/21506_Flow_Of_Ideas_21.html
Now I can't stop thinking, so I would look to tell you a short story while I try to make my unwilling body go to sleep.
About a month ago I went to see Madrid during the weekend with Skyler. We spent a worthy hunk of our time walking around and exploring like good tourists, and in during that quest went to one of the world's premiere art museums, El Prado. To me, art museums are normally like homework almost, but not quite approaching busy-work levels. You should probably at least take a look at them, and they will provide some redemptive value, but they are hardly the paragon of life's offerings. The Prado was different because many of their collection pieces are famous, famous paintings. I had never walked around a corner and seen a painting that I had already looked at hundreds of pictures of throughout various history textbooks until this:
(Los fusilamientos del tres de mayo - 1814)
The cool factor is extreme.
We continued through the museum amongst spaced crowds of tourists, and despite their many whispers the ambiance was nicely quiet and reflective. I enjoyed stopping at taking long looks at the many pieces by one famous artist or another that were displayed adjacently. Seeing how their style would change or how their choices of color and body characteristics varied made itself into a little game.
One of the more attractive layout features of the museum was their Goya displays. Goya, having been a brilliant painter and Spanish national to boot was one of the major attractions, and there were enough of his paintings present to have two galleries. They were sorted into early, and late paintings. The early paintings were during his financially successful career where he painted rich people. Most of the works are of Spanish royalty, and one particular Spanish king had some dozen of his portraits aloofly smiling back at visitors. The overall effect of the works was clean and crisp.
Downstairs, separate from the first exhibit were Goya's paintings from his later life, when things began to fall apart, when he probably suffered from depression, and where his work took a turn for the darker. The most startling moment of the entire visit, and the moment that may remain as my most memorable from my time here was walking across one particular painting. There I was in a museum filled with almost entirely realistically painted scenes of angels, cherubs, lovely women, the occasional romanticized battle or execution, and then out of nowhere, boom!
I saw him eating the baby:
(Saturn devouring his son)
Looking at those eyes was probably not a wise choice in terms of picking a sleep cultivating activity.
Sweet dreams,
Tim
And then I saw him eating the baby. (There's your teaser, and now for the less interesting lead-in.)
Tonight was planned as an early-to-bed night, but I started reading an article on one of my favorite games, Magic the Gathering, by a young writer by the name of Gavin Verhey. Gavin's writing style features a unique mix of obnoxiously trumpeted talent and seeming hubris with actual skill. I don't know whether to think “Burn the witch!”, or “Hey cool” when I read his stuff, but it engages readers at least. For reference the original article is online here: http://www.starcitygames.com/magic/misc/21506_Flow_Of_Ideas_21.html
Now I can't stop thinking, so I would look to tell you a short story while I try to make my unwilling body go to sleep.
About a month ago I went to see Madrid during the weekend with Skyler. We spent a worthy hunk of our time walking around and exploring like good tourists, and in during that quest went to one of the world's premiere art museums, El Prado. To me, art museums are normally like homework almost, but not quite approaching busy-work levels. You should probably at least take a look at them, and they will provide some redemptive value, but they are hardly the paragon of life's offerings. The Prado was different because many of their collection pieces are famous, famous paintings. I had never walked around a corner and seen a painting that I had already looked at hundreds of pictures of throughout various history textbooks until this:
(Los fusilamientos del tres de mayo - 1814)
The cool factor is extreme.
We continued through the museum amongst spaced crowds of tourists, and despite their many whispers the ambiance was nicely quiet and reflective. I enjoyed stopping at taking long looks at the many pieces by one famous artist or another that were displayed adjacently. Seeing how their style would change or how their choices of color and body characteristics varied made itself into a little game.
One of the more attractive layout features of the museum was their Goya displays. Goya, having been a brilliant painter and Spanish national to boot was one of the major attractions, and there were enough of his paintings present to have two galleries. They were sorted into early, and late paintings. The early paintings were during his financially successful career where he painted rich people. Most of the works are of Spanish royalty, and one particular Spanish king had some dozen of his portraits aloofly smiling back at visitors. The overall effect of the works was clean and crisp.
Downstairs, separate from the first exhibit were Goya's paintings from his later life, when things began to fall apart, when he probably suffered from depression, and where his work took a turn for the darker. The most startling moment of the entire visit, and the moment that may remain as my most memorable from my time here was walking across one particular painting. There I was in a museum filled with almost entirely realistically painted scenes of angels, cherubs, lovely women, the occasional romanticized battle or execution, and then out of nowhere, boom!
I saw him eating the baby:
(Saturn devouring his son)
Looking at those eyes was probably not a wise choice in terms of picking a sleep cultivating activity.
Sweet dreams,
Tim
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Absolutely Attrocious
Dear Reader,
The sickness policy here strikes me as completely, unequivocally, Charlie Sheen-esque bad. The program offers students three sick days, which functionally can be taken as vacation days, and after that any further absences substantially lower student grades.
In theory, students would save these days for when they are actually sick. In practice, we're in Europe, and that aint happening, since admitting that your cold will eventually prevent you from going to Africa for that one weekend is a tough pill to swallow. Everyone just shows up.
We also have very tiny classrooms. I am talking five tables with chairs, hello person sitting right next to me, oh I see you are coughing, oh there is a fleck of spittle right on my check, the same check next to my eyes and mouth which are vulnerable orifices of disease reception, tiny. The kind of tiny that isn't ideal for germaphobes.
Why not save the neurotically opposed to unhealthiness among us and just let people stay in while they are under the weather?
College students are not inmates. They are in a class to learn, and while some will abuse a system that say, lets them stay home and not spread their scary, scary germs on friends and loved ones, most probably just go to class. For those who don't, it should be their problem and the results should be their consequences to deal with. If the program gets its money, people are healthy, viruses live shorter lives, who cares about a few missed classes?
Anyways everyone here is sick. Fight the system; stay home and watch TV!
Tim
The sickness policy here strikes me as completely, unequivocally, Charlie Sheen-esque bad. The program offers students three sick days, which functionally can be taken as vacation days, and after that any further absences substantially lower student grades.
In theory, students would save these days for when they are actually sick. In practice, we're in Europe, and that aint happening, since admitting that your cold will eventually prevent you from going to Africa for that one weekend is a tough pill to swallow. Everyone just shows up.
We also have very tiny classrooms. I am talking five tables with chairs, hello person sitting right next to me, oh I see you are coughing, oh there is a fleck of spittle right on my check, the same check next to my eyes and mouth which are vulnerable orifices of disease reception, tiny. The kind of tiny that isn't ideal for germaphobes.
Why not save the neurotically opposed to unhealthiness among us and just let people stay in while they are under the weather?
College students are not inmates. They are in a class to learn, and while some will abuse a system that say, lets them stay home and not spread their scary, scary germs on friends and loved ones, most probably just go to class. For those who don't, it should be their problem and the results should be their consequences to deal with. If the program gets its money, people are healthy, viruses live shorter lives, who cares about a few missed classes?
Anyways everyone here is sick. Fight the system; stay home and watch TV!
Tim
Sunday, March 13, 2011
I'm Mellllting
Dear well mannered readers of mine,
Growing up in Seattle I became adjusted to the rain. Hearing it sloshing into the ground outside and rolling harmlessly down my bedroom window is as about as relaxing as anything can be to me.
Evidently in Alicante they strongly dislike it. Yesterday the park/plaza by my house which usually finds itself packed with people on weekend afternoons was completely deserted. The cause? Light overcast and scattered showers. Today there were nearly a hundred people outside when I went for my walk. It is about ten to fifteen degrees warmer and sunny. This strikes me as so strange.
Am I alone here?
Tim
Growing up in Seattle I became adjusted to the rain. Hearing it sloshing into the ground outside and rolling harmlessly down my bedroom window is as about as relaxing as anything can be to me.
Evidently in Alicante they strongly dislike it. Yesterday the park/plaza by my house which usually finds itself packed with people on weekend afternoons was completely deserted. The cause? Light overcast and scattered showers. Today there were nearly a hundred people outside when I went for my walk. It is about ten to fifteen degrees warmer and sunny. This strikes me as so strange.
Am I alone here?
Tim
Friday, March 11, 2011
Directness in Spain, an example
Dear reader,
Spaniards differ from Americans perhaps the most in regards to levels of directness. In American society so many things cannot be said, and so many more are packaged in specific ways to be more buttery. You don't just walk up to a bar, and half shout at the bartender "Listen! Two beers!" in the states (at least I think not?), but here that exchange would be normal.
The other day I was on the receiving end of this cultural difference. The wife of one of my host family's sons was around the house, and asked to see my costume for Carnaval. (Two posts down there is a picture.) On spying it, she asked me if I was gay in a conversation translated roughly as follows:
Wife: Is your friend gay?
Me: No.
Wife: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, he has many pretty ladies in his life. (Positive trait)
Wife: Wait, so are you gay?
Me: No.
Wife: Are you sure?
Me: Yes.
Wife: You could tell me if you were.
Me: I'm not gay.
Wife: Alllright.
As you can see, when someone wants to know something, meandering and beating around bushes seems to be minimal. I'm trying to picture this in America unsuccessfully.
Just wait until I get back and take my newly acquired conversational habits with me,
Tim
Spaniards differ from Americans perhaps the most in regards to levels of directness. In American society so many things cannot be said, and so many more are packaged in specific ways to be more buttery. You don't just walk up to a bar, and half shout at the bartender "Listen! Two beers!" in the states (at least I think not?), but here that exchange would be normal.
The other day I was on the receiving end of this cultural difference. The wife of one of my host family's sons was around the house, and asked to see my costume for Carnaval. (Two posts down there is a picture.) On spying it, she asked me if I was gay in a conversation translated roughly as follows:
Wife: Is your friend gay?
Me: No.
Wife: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, he has many pretty ladies in his life. (Positive trait)
Wife: Wait, so are you gay?
Me: No.
Wife: Are you sure?
Me: Yes.
Wife: You could tell me if you were.
Me: I'm not gay.
Wife: Alllright.
As you can see, when someone wants to know something, meandering and beating around bushes seems to be minimal. I'm trying to picture this in America unsuccessfully.
Just wait until I get back and take my newly acquired conversational habits with me,
Tim
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Awkward
Dear reader,
I was talking to a professor today when he settled a question that has long been on my mind. The English phrase "awkward" evidently has no Spanish translation. There are terms to describe extreme discomfort, but not what we know as awkward.
You know a society is direct and unflappable when it lacks a term for mild social pain.
Best,
Tim
I was talking to a professor today when he settled a question that has long been on my mind. The English phrase "awkward" evidently has no Spanish translation. There are terms to describe extreme discomfort, but not what we know as awkward.
You know a society is direct and unflappable when it lacks a term for mild social pain.
Best,
Tim
Monday, March 7, 2011
"Carnaval" or "What if they threw a cosplay convention and everyone came?"
Dear reader,
Firstly:
Secondly:
In a society that has only spent about 25 of the last 50 years in democracy, and the other half under fascist oversight, Carnaval celebrates everything free. It's crowning activity took place this week in Alicante and I placed myself in the middle of its craziness. Defining Carnaval's atmosphere were Masks, cross dressing, three simultaneous concerts in a small space, drinking, littering, sex, and many more forms of objects and acts belonging to the night.
My introduction to the festival came during a Spanish film class where we saw an older period film. A handsome, flirtatious, and good at cooking (an especially sexy trait round these here parts) protagonist went through brief romantic flings with each of an elderly painter's four daughters. One of these flings happened during the local village's Carnaval. The painter's gender-challenged second daughter dressed as a soldier while dressing the protagonist as a man, and aggressively seduced him, taking the role of a commandeering Spanish male during the exchange. Our professor informed us that this reversal was common during Carnaval, since Spanish women normally have to play “the reject, ignore, reject, say no, ok maybe just a little bit of talking” game. The men are pretty persistent. We also found out that Carnaval was to begin this past weekend. I was sold, assuming that the festival would at least be memorable.
My second introduction came when we picked out costumes “disfrases”. The host sister of my friend and crony Skyler happened to have an old fish costume hanging around from when she was six. Skyler put his on, and then the host sister revealed that tights would complement the outfit well. Tight would be an understatement here. What was more, downstairs was another fish costume, but this time pink instead of green. I was apprehensive, but thought it would be funny enough, and so I snapped up the opportunity. The costumes were intended for little girls, a group which as of my last checking neither Skyler nor I belonged to, and so the “pez” also barely went below waist level.
Equipped and excited for the evening, we headed to a downtown apartment where we met with several friends and continued towards “la Rambla” or the huge closed off main street hosting Carnaval. Even blocks away there were dozens of costumed Spaniards. I'd like to talk about the costumes I saw over the night before continuing since the atmosphere is impossible to grasp without picturing them.
Some of the male costumes I saw were: ninja, firefighter, professor, police officer, geisha, schoolboy, bavarian, bloody surgeon, hippy, various Beatles, and various drag queens.
Some of the female costumes I saw were: sexy ninja, sexy firefighter, sexy police officer, geisha, sexy schoolgirl, sexy bavarian (I think you get the idea at this point), and various males.
Special mention to: A group of fifteen or so people who dressed in a giant cardboard bus with windows for each party member to look out from, all the Spaniards who went as Waldo (You guys, I found him!), and some guy who made a full-body cardboard suit of Bender from Fut-o-rama.
On reaching the main street, we were greeted with a solid mass of costumed bodies stretching about a mile. Despite everyone's costumes being impressive, Skyler and I got a lot of looks. I'm guessing that much of this was owed to our status as fairly tall, gangly, pale males and the whole tights/neon effect we had going.
Three simultaneous concerts were going as well. On the main stage was a group playing some Spanish rock I recognized. What really surprised me was when they played English rock and it sounded spot on. Before my experience with Spanish English-spoken pop covers was from an American idol clone where people tried to emulate foreign language songs with horrible accents. The Bon Jovi song playing sounded like it could have been from a medium-quality Youtube rip of a CD. Not bad at all.
Everywhere in the street were discarded cups, random puddles of unidentifiable slop, and people's bags of drinks. I mention this because drinking in excess, or even explicitly outside of a bar is very rare here. I saw more people overtly holding a 40oz than I have since arriving in Spain during the first five minutes of walking towards Carnaval.
At various points I was offered drinks by complete strangers, grabbed by the throat by one of the women dressed as a police officer, asked to pose in photos by tourists clearly not from Spain, and in a position to officiate a brief mock-luchador fight between two similarly dressed people.
Eventually the crowds noise and energy were too much and I headed for home. I would have gone to bed, but my walking route ended up going through another crazy event, this time a dance party blocks away from the main street filling up a small square. I ran into two nice girls from South Africa and Barbados at the dance party and ended up talking until about 5AM, and which point I went home and got some excellent rest.
And Carnaval lasts a week!
American adults would be way too self conscious to have this many mainstreamers show up to an event like this.
Wishing you an interesting week,
Tim
Firstly:
Secondly:
In a society that has only spent about 25 of the last 50 years in democracy, and the other half under fascist oversight, Carnaval celebrates everything free. It's crowning activity took place this week in Alicante and I placed myself in the middle of its craziness. Defining Carnaval's atmosphere were Masks, cross dressing, three simultaneous concerts in a small space, drinking, littering, sex, and many more forms of objects and acts belonging to the night.
My introduction to the festival came during a Spanish film class where we saw an older period film. A handsome, flirtatious, and good at cooking (an especially sexy trait round these here parts) protagonist went through brief romantic flings with each of an elderly painter's four daughters. One of these flings happened during the local village's Carnaval. The painter's gender-challenged second daughter dressed as a soldier while dressing the protagonist as a man, and aggressively seduced him, taking the role of a commandeering Spanish male during the exchange. Our professor informed us that this reversal was common during Carnaval, since Spanish women normally have to play “the reject, ignore, reject, say no, ok maybe just a little bit of talking” game. The men are pretty persistent. We also found out that Carnaval was to begin this past weekend. I was sold, assuming that the festival would at least be memorable.
My second introduction came when we picked out costumes “disfrases”. The host sister of my friend and crony Skyler happened to have an old fish costume hanging around from when she was six. Skyler put his on, and then the host sister revealed that tights would complement the outfit well. Tight would be an understatement here. What was more, downstairs was another fish costume, but this time pink instead of green. I was apprehensive, but thought it would be funny enough, and so I snapped up the opportunity. The costumes were intended for little girls, a group which as of my last checking neither Skyler nor I belonged to, and so the “pez” also barely went below waist level.
Equipped and excited for the evening, we headed to a downtown apartment where we met with several friends and continued towards “la Rambla” or the huge closed off main street hosting Carnaval. Even blocks away there were dozens of costumed Spaniards. I'd like to talk about the costumes I saw over the night before continuing since the atmosphere is impossible to grasp without picturing them.
Some of the male costumes I saw were: ninja, firefighter, professor, police officer, geisha, schoolboy, bavarian, bloody surgeon, hippy, various Beatles, and various drag queens.
Some of the female costumes I saw were: sexy ninja, sexy firefighter, sexy police officer, geisha, sexy schoolgirl, sexy bavarian (I think you get the idea at this point), and various males.
Special mention to: A group of fifteen or so people who dressed in a giant cardboard bus with windows for each party member to look out from, all the Spaniards who went as Waldo (You guys, I found him!), and some guy who made a full-body cardboard suit of Bender from Fut-o-rama.
On reaching the main street, we were greeted with a solid mass of costumed bodies stretching about a mile. Despite everyone's costumes being impressive, Skyler and I got a lot of looks. I'm guessing that much of this was owed to our status as fairly tall, gangly, pale males and the whole tights/neon effect we had going.
Three simultaneous concerts were going as well. On the main stage was a group playing some Spanish rock I recognized. What really surprised me was when they played English rock and it sounded spot on. Before my experience with Spanish English-spoken pop covers was from an American idol clone where people tried to emulate foreign language songs with horrible accents. The Bon Jovi song playing sounded like it could have been from a medium-quality Youtube rip of a CD. Not bad at all.
Everywhere in the street were discarded cups, random puddles of unidentifiable slop, and people's bags of drinks. I mention this because drinking in excess, or even explicitly outside of a bar is very rare here. I saw more people overtly holding a 40oz than I have since arriving in Spain during the first five minutes of walking towards Carnaval.
At various points I was offered drinks by complete strangers, grabbed by the throat by one of the women dressed as a police officer, asked to pose in photos by tourists clearly not from Spain, and in a position to officiate a brief mock-luchador fight between two similarly dressed people.
Eventually the crowds noise and energy were too much and I headed for home. I would have gone to bed, but my walking route ended up going through another crazy event, this time a dance party blocks away from the main street filling up a small square. I ran into two nice girls from South Africa and Barbados at the dance party and ended up talking until about 5AM, and which point I went home and got some excellent rest.
And Carnaval lasts a week!
American adults would be way too self conscious to have this many mainstreamers show up to an event like this.
Wishing you an interesting week,
Tim
Friday, March 4, 2011
Private Space
Dear Reader,
I write to you from a tidy garden outside of the central government building in Alicante. Narrow streets run all around, and from here I can still hear the cars, but they are muffled by a fountain and several flocks of small birds singing in the trees. This garden represents the only isolated space I have found in my Spanish city.
I don't know what the origins of Alicante's layout were, but for whatever reason public space is not just the norm but the almost unabridged rule. Stores are closely nestled without real alleyways, parks are open with no ground cover, entirely well lit, and even the surrounding beaches lack even an inch of unobserved ground. I seek a quiet space to think and relax, but were someone so inclined, it would be preposterously difficult to get up to any kind of unseen shenaniganery here. It's funny that one of the most unwatched spaces I have so far discovered surrounds the seat of government.
This whole business is quite unlike Seattle, where in the suburbs, and even many areas adjacent to downtown there are large parks, dark alleys, freeway overpasses, and all kinds of random hidey-holes abound. On the one hand Alicante's layout lends a feeling of safety probably lacking for those who might find themselves walking around South or East of Seattle late at night. On the other, never having even an snippet of solitude can get to you.
I thought that maybe Alicante was unique in this respect – maybe the city, being to considerable extent a tourist destination, chose to make itself condensed, open, and ever-watching. When we took trips to Madrid and Barcelona though, for the most part I saw more of the same. The one major exception was a gorgeous and massive park in Madrid. The more I see of Spain, the more I think of it as having a social and public culture.
Until next time,
Tim
I write to you from a tidy garden outside of the central government building in Alicante. Narrow streets run all around, and from here I can still hear the cars, but they are muffled by a fountain and several flocks of small birds singing in the trees. This garden represents the only isolated space I have found in my Spanish city.
I don't know what the origins of Alicante's layout were, but for whatever reason public space is not just the norm but the almost unabridged rule. Stores are closely nestled without real alleyways, parks are open with no ground cover, entirely well lit, and even the surrounding beaches lack even an inch of unobserved ground. I seek a quiet space to think and relax, but were someone so inclined, it would be preposterously difficult to get up to any kind of unseen shenaniganery here. It's funny that one of the most unwatched spaces I have so far discovered surrounds the seat of government.
This whole business is quite unlike Seattle, where in the suburbs, and even many areas adjacent to downtown there are large parks, dark alleys, freeway overpasses, and all kinds of random hidey-holes abound. On the one hand Alicante's layout lends a feeling of safety probably lacking for those who might find themselves walking around South or East of Seattle late at night. On the other, never having even an snippet of solitude can get to you.
I thought that maybe Alicante was unique in this respect – maybe the city, being to considerable extent a tourist destination, chose to make itself condensed, open, and ever-watching. When we took trips to Madrid and Barcelona though, for the most part I saw more of the same. The one major exception was a gorgeous and massive park in Madrid. The more I see of Spain, the more I think of it as having a social and public culture.
Until next time,
Tim
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