Holiday Travels

So Ally has come and gone, and along with her our Christmas Vacation.

My 3-week trip this time around was somewhat different than the one I took back in the Summer of 2005 with my good friend Stephen Kovach.  Filled with laughter, absurdity and shenanigans, it was quite the coming of age story.  Five years wiser, I was happy to "show Ally the ropes," as if I ever really mastered the art of travel.  Even going to some of the same places felt completely new, with a touch of Deja Vu every once in a while - walking into Termini Train Station in Rome, looking upon the impressive Colosseum and the stroll through the Roman Forum, then Nice and the French Riviera.

The Colossus of Nero 

Roman Forum and Via Sacra

One thing I didn't see last time was the Vatican.  The museum there was overwhelming.  We got lost a few times trying to find certain exhibits.  My favorite part by far was learning about the Sistine Chapel from our animated guide.  Michelangelo versus the Warrior Pope, forced to paint the place in the style of Fresco (which is done over wet plaster), never having been a painter before, craning his neck for days at a time painting on the curved ceiling.  His revenge the subtle painting of a boy leaning over the shoulder of a previous pope, Michelangelo being the boy and the current pope as the old pope, giving him the equivalent of the finger at the time.  Not sure if the revenge is equal to the 4 years taken from him, but something is something.  An interesting fact we learned while there, the only piece that has been re-painted in the Chapel is part of one the most famous paintings in the world - The Creation of Adam.  The tip of Adam's finger fell off in an earthquake, and has been redone since.

The Torso - Michelangelo's inspiration to become a sculptor - can be seen painted in different possible positions at the four corners of each scene on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel

From busy, cold, impressive Rome, we arrived in Palermo four days before Christmas with sunny skies.  Now this is what you think of when you think "Italy."  Outdoor markets, warm weather, slow lifestyle, the Mediterranean.  The food cheap and delicious, the views simple and breathtaking.  We immediately extended our stay from two to four nights.  We were blown away right from the start when this is what we saw out or hotel window:

This is actually from the roof of the hotel, but our window was quite similar, and this is where we had breakfast every morning.  Turn 180 degrees and you've got the Mediterranean staring back at you.

We spent most of our time here just wandering around and enjoying the amazing food and scenery.  Being Winter and all (A balmy 60), it was impossible to partake in some of the main tourist activities that would have been fun - a trip to one of the many Aeolian Islands, each with their specific attractions to lure all types of interest; nature, great beaches and swimming, mud baths, etc.  We were also counseled into taking a 2 hour bus to Trapani, a nearby city, in order take a gondola up a mountain to see the ruins of Erice - a well preserved medieval castle community.

We departed from the bus when we confirmed we were indeed in Trapani.  As we exited onto the sidewalk, we realized we had no idea where this gondola was, how to get there, nor the Italian word for gondola.  We eventually saw signs for "Erice" and were heading the right direction, when we finally came upon our chariot.  Unfortunately, the gondola was closed to windy winter conditions (it was blowing probably 35+ mph that day so it was probably a good thing).  We couldn't really tell how far up we'd have to hike because we couldn't see anything from the base, so we started walking hoping to get picked up with outstretched thumbs.

We started up the winding road and cars passes by, a few even slowed down or stopped, but I still can't be sure exactly what happened or what the other party was thinking in any of these encounters as they always ended with Ally and I looking back at each other in confusion as the car climbed onward.  The drivers and passengers would either shake their heads or wag their fingers at us as they passed, as if we were doing something wrong. Then an older man was kind enough to stop to say he wasn't going toward the ruins, but to the other mountain, which the road we were on also apparently led to.  He said this before we even said anything, as if just to show us that he WOULD have picked us up had circumstances been different.  I mean, is a little ride up a few of the monotonous switchbacks too much to ask?  You don't have to take us the whole way.  So with this information I began to think these people somehow divined we were stupid tourists walking up to the ruins; my shorts and T-shirt an instant giveaway (Even with the wind blowing fiercely, given the temperature and the fact that we were hiking it wasn't all that crazy...but it makes sense because in my time in Europe so far, I've seen 5 other people in shorts - the opposing team during a futsol match a month earlier), and they were all simply going to this other mountain.

Before we knew it, we had made it pretty far and we made a decision using our reasoning skills this expensive education has afforded me.  The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, so we got off the road and hiked along side the gondola posts.  Sure the terrain was a bit more difficult, you know - loose gravel, steep inclines, spiky weeds, locked gates, fences, nothing out of the ordinary, but the payoff was worth it; the serenity of the scenery and the routes directness showed us our quickly rising elevation.

Finally we saw a ridge, and I quoted an old family favorite movie, Homeward Bound "Home is just over that ridge."  Of course, Shadow is always wrong and they are lost in those mountains for a good while, and we were quickly discouraged as that ridge's view gave us the sight of another.  With concerns about getting down in time for the last bus and not knowing really how much farther we had, it was game time.  We stepped it up a notch and stumbled to the summit, our work rewarded with some even more breathtaking views and impressive castle architecture.

The only drawback to our amazing hike was that we were strapped for time for the way down, we had just missed the last bus down the mountain for the day and the sun was beginning to set.  We began our descent into a dazzling setting sun.

We made it down in a fraction of the time despite thinking the steep inclines might have proven treacherous going the opposite direction.  We had a great time booking down the mountain - Ally fell at least 5 times, which made it all the more enjoyable for me.

Well I won't bore with any more stories of such detail because this post would never end, but after Palermo we spent a night in Venice, then, with all paths to Paris full, arrived in Nice, and barely finding a path to Madrid in time for New Years, we made our away across France to Bordeaux, then down to Madrid.  We definitely logged some good hours on the train in those few days.

We screeched into Madrid at 10pm New Year's Eve, so we had to hustle to get to Puerta del Sol (the enormous plaza).  By 11:50pm we were making our way through the packed crowds with grapes in hand (the thing to do in Spain is eat 12 grapes during the countdown, a difficult feat I was unable to accomplish because I didn't have the time to de-seed mine).  It was quite the spectacle.  What really topped it off was the circle of people next to us having a champagne war - our first taste of alcohol on the night.

The night proceeded on as any New Year's Eve would have - Chinos selling beers in the street, hordes of inebriates from all over the globe, sneaking a plethora of beers into a bar and thus having free refills all night, and finally, sleep.

Now I'm back "home" in Jaén, making up a few days at school each week, taking it relatively easy.  Missed all the family during the holidays, but I can't really complain.

Livin' the good life in Madrid.  I'm taking a page out of his book.

Allow me to extend an olive branch.

It may just save your life, or at least prolong it.  

But why stop there?  Here in Jaén, you wouldn't be hard-pressed for more (believe me, their diet reflects that fact).  There are some 150 million olive trees here, which outnumber the inhabitants of the whole province of Jaén about 150-1 (I live in the city of Jaén, which is also the capital of the province of Jaén, in case that's confusing).  El mar de olivo.  The sea of olive trees.  This is the olive oil capital of the world, it's largest producer, the trees packed into the countryside, neatly spaced and embedded in a deep red soil that spans over the rolling hills as far as the eye can see.  Although somewhat monotonous, it has a kind of symmetrical beauty.  

El Mar de Olivo 

Just a drop in the ocean

When I say that the olive branch could prolong your life it's because, on average, they live 3 years longer than Americans (81.1 to 78.4), which puts them near the top of the global charts.  They have an interesting diet - meal x (cooked and/or smothered in olive oil) eaten at times near 7 pm and 11pm-1am, beer or wine with that meal, a cigarette before, during and after that meal, and 27 more in-between.  Then, depending on whether you have a pressing issue the following morning, even later-night tapas with beers.  I always seem to face some critique for my American cooking and eating habits - sorry Ramón, but I think breakfast is an important meal.  

I think there is something to be said for moderation.  Which is worse - Wolfing down a ton of food quickly, so your stomach doesn't realize it's going to burst until it's too late?  Or picking slowly at your food, with abundant banter, sips of your fermented beverage, and an even more abundant inhalation of smoke (which curbs your hunger all the more)?  Well the proof is in the pudding - I've only seen a par of heavier-than-healthy individuals here, and about 50% of them were residing in the McDonald's at the Granada Train Station.  Our gift to the world.     

Is it bad that this is the most time I've spent in a public library, and it's not even for the books?  I mean, I've logged some serious hours in the WWU library, but my sudden disconnection from the internet has shed some light on a few things for me.

1. Apparently I will do anything for Wifi (pronounced wee-fee).  Including sitting outside of a bank with a tiny overhang to avoid the falling raindrops, only to be thwarted by the surprisingly loud noise produced by the roadwork (there is a tram track being constructed throughout the city), which then echoed twice over in my little corner.  I have also sat outside the library at night while it's closed, just for the free connection, in the "cold" (The Andalusian idea of cold is laughable) on the tiny sidewalks, where people are practically stepping over me to get by.  I haven't met hardly any shady characters, but I'll admit I would get a little nervous when the street would empty to just a few of us.  

2. The only connection I have to the mothership, the home-world, the heartland, the land of, well, not my ancestors, but most of my current family and friends, is through the world wide web.  When the internet we were "sharing" with our neighbors suddenly crapped out, I was cut off from the outside world.  This actually wasn't all bad.  It actually inspired me to get out and run around the city more, you know, the real outside world.  

The other day I got together with some of the other Americans teachers here and went to play futsal (soccer on a small, asphalt field with a slightly smaller, heavier ball) against a team of Spaniards.  In case you were wondering, the current world champions prevailed, however, I'm confident had I my all-star team from intramurals, the outcome may have been different.  

I do admire the layout of european cities.  Made for walking, not driving.  Parks and plazas galore, cars and motorcycles parked right on the sidewalk (seriously how is that legal).  I found a great park the other day.  It has what I'm assuming to be a one kilometer track, complete with pull-up bars, stationary bikes, dip bars, leg presses, and an extremely dangerous treadmill with metal cylinders that simply spin when you run on them.  It's like running on a rectangular sheet of ice three feet off the ground - an injury waiting to happen.  And what is a treadmill doing alongside a track anyway?  At any rate, its perfect - it encloses an enormous field with little pools, some balance rope/artwork thing and gardens and trees.  Perfect for the days when I'm feeling especially ambitious to go running and do some chin-ups.  

There isn't much motivation here to workout, though.  Amy (the other teacher assistant at my school) and I created a presentation to inform the kids on our glorious traditional feast that takes place every 4th Thursday of November.  Upon informing them of the importance of watching American football on Thanksgiving day, they asked if the action shot of Peyton Manning was me.  Kids say the darndest things.

They didn't know anything about Thanksgiving, which made it more fun.  They had a hard time differentiating it form Christmas - the joining of family and friends, the large feast - just no Santa, snow, or decorations (of course I hear there's snow on the ground right now at home).  They have a tough time in general differentiating our culture from Britain - Guy Fawkes day was November 5th, which was termed as a "thanksgiving" for the failure of the gunpowder plot, an act of terrorism against parliament.  The kids almost all consented on a preference of ham instead of turkey (blasphemy in my household), and cringed at the thought of pumpkin pie (although one boasted of eating mashed pumpkin...is this real?).

I'll leave you with some humor.  The language barrier exists between those of the same tongue (they learn British English):  There is a cartoon picture on the wall in a classroom at my school with a girl politely asking a boy, May I have a rubber?  What she meant to say was eraser, but I'm glad she didn't because it served for some confusing laughter - but not nearly as much as the difficulty in pronunciation - somehow, a repetition of taste buds came out as...can you guess?

Taaaassty baaalls

The next 2 minutes consisted of confused faces, both student and teacher, and unstoppable, repressed chuckling.  I know, immature.   

Teaching English. Spanish Mentality.

I don't think my biological clock has ever been so confused.  My roommates just had their midday meals, at 7:00pm.  I teased my hunger with a small bowl of soup so I can partake in their normal dinner hour, which is going to take place here hopefully sometime soon (between 10 and midnight?).  I'm almost always the first to go to bed, I mean I would stay up and watch late night "reality" TV in Spanish with the boys, but quite frankly, I think it's just awful.  You thought Jersey Shore was bad?  Anyways, enough said.

Since I've moved in, I've rearranged my room in a way that, according to my roommate, Ramón, is very American.  So I said, you mean better and more efficient?  He said yes.  I'm not sure if he completely understood.  Don't get me wrong, I speak a bit of Spanish, but there is still a language barrier at times, and in this instance it served me well.  

I was talking to Ramón about his studies, and he began describing to me how he always has trouble concentrating on school work until the due date comes very close.  I was surprised the Spanish don't have a definitive word for procrastination, considering the "no pasa nada" lifestyle.  

What I've got here is essentially a "Hakuna Matata" mindset, it means no worries, for the rest of your days.  But seriously, we had a discussion about retirement, and the government takes care of you after 65, even if you've managed to survive that long without working a day in your life.  But hey, if you can do that, you're probably resourceful enough to not need retirement.

Today I was the first to awake.  The time was noon.  I had gone to bed somewhat early (2am) as I had had a busy weekend in Granada.  Even on a school day there is never any need to rush.  I tried to call the immigration office about a hundred times to schedule an appointment to get a temporary residency, but the line was busy every time, and they close at 2pm every day for siesta.  Ahh siesta, you better have nothing you need to do between the hours of 2 and 5-6, because that time is reserved for, well, nothing.

So as it's been a good ten days since I've posted anything, I guess I'll give a quick and dirty recap.

I've had my first few days teaching.  Of course the first day was chaos.  If you want to feel like a celebrity, go to an elementary school anywhere else in the world (well, to my knowledge, Spain or Chile, and according to a friend here, China).  The kids are great, although the English level is pretty low.  I'm not too impressed with the (quite spendy) curriculum they use (which I guess would include me as an assistant, so I can't really complain), but something somewhere isn't working, and the Andalusian government spends far too much money on it for it to be failing so badly.  They bought elementary schools a computer for each student, more or less - I've noticed about 1 per every two students, but still, that's pretty progressive as far as I know.

All the kids packing down to see the water caves on our field trip!

Well I have to teach in the morning so I guess I'll call it a night and just have to recap later.  Ah who am I kidding, I'm going out for a drink with my roommates, I mean, I have to fit in right? 

Half the battle is almost over - Thurs Nov 5 - En route to Jaén

Waiting for the train in Madrid


After navigating my way back to the train station, I made it onto the train that will take me to Jaén.  Upon buying my ticket for this train, I was informed that only 20kg (45 lbs) of luggage was allowed per person.  I had about thrice that amount, but he said the 20kg was only "en teoría, en teoría" (in theory, and that it wouldn't really affect me).  Well here I am on the train along with all my luggage, all is well, except the girl next to me is sitting in my window seat.

Traveling South, looking West from the train

The 4-hour train ride was nice.  Spain has some interesting countryside as you travel south.  Much of it has a reddish hue, almost like a desert, but with a constant scattered greenery, and even some cactus.  All the soil is tilled and looked after, and there were what looked like various tree farms and windmills.

I didn't have the slightest clue as to what to do as I reached Jaén.  I didn't have Amy's phone number (the other American girl teaching here), and I didn't know the city, and once again I would have to haul all my luggage.

I headed for the nearest locutorio (internet and phone center) and started looking for places to live, then found Amy's number and gave her a ring.  She came and met me and we went to her place where I promptly napped for 4 hours.

Upon awakening, we headed for the apartment of 3 Spanish gentlemen that Amy had met when trying to find a place.  In fact, she wanted to live in this room, but her current landlord would not allow her to leave without a hassle, so she decided against it.  I had seen this very ad online and responded to it, quite the coincidence that Amy happened to have their phone number and address.

So I went there, met them all, everything looked good, went back to Amy's, collected my things, and now I'm getting setup here in my new room in an apartment with 3 other Spanish students.

My room

The kitchen

Getting there is half the battle - Wed Nov 3rd - 5th - En route to London, then Madrid

I am a bit behind on this whole blog thing, anyways, I'll start the night of my flight to London where I would connect to Madrid.

I really lucked out on this flight.  British Airways asks that you pay if you would like to book a seat in advance.  Well I had certainly planned on doing that, and I remembered planning to do it as I printed out my boarding pass with my designated middle seat for my upcoming 9-hour flight.  Luckily upon arriving to my seat, an older woman was already sitting in it next to her husband, her window seat vacant, soon to filled with my happy bottom.  Great way to start the journey, heck, I just made $30.

Of course no flight would be complete without an extremely pissed off baby.  The adorable little girl who grabbed by pant leg and backpack straps as I passed by her in the aisle on the way to my seat is now wailing to high heaven for some unsatisfied need.  I am luckily far enough away to not be bothered by it and really just more empathetic toward the mother who has two more rugrats to deal with besides the difficult one.

A sizzling "beef with vegetables & mashed potatoes"dinner later (complete with wine, italian dressing spilled all over my pillow, and constant, harrowing turbulence, which made drinking anything at all, or even keeping it on my tray and off of myself, a challenge), I was halfway through a good book and on my way to dreamland, and then London (not dreamland).

I awoke to a breakfast box that had some disgusting meat muffin thing in it.  I settled for the tiny bran muffin and yogurt and left the meat muffin alone after I almost refunded the first bite.  We circled the runway once due to excessive incoming traffic and then had a bumpier-than-I-would-have-liked landing right on time at London-Heathrow Airport.

I showed up at my connecting flight with time to spare, and we boarded on time and everything was looking good, until the captain got on the intercom (never a good sign) and informed of us our broken plane.  It would only be an extra 45 minutes.  So sure enough, after 45 minutes, we began to taxi away from the gate, then after we taxied what seemed a fair amount of time, we stopped, and then 45 minutes later, we were taking off.  So much for tonight's train to Jaén, guess I'll have to find a hostel in the night streets of Madrid while carting around 130 pounds of luggage.

After I picked up my luggage, I went with this California girl who was being met by a friend to go to the train station.  I figure it saves me the trouble of figuring out the metro.  Of course neither speaks Spanish, although the friend lives here half the year playing roller hockey (what?), and don't know the metro, so I had to figure it out anyways.

After buying my train ticket for Jaén the following morning, I set out upon the busy streets of Madrid, buzzing with nightlife, delicious smelling restaurants, and hoards of drunk people, looking like (and being) a confused American with far too much luggage, extremely hungry and tired, looking for a hostel.  After finally finding one, lugging all my things up two flights of rickety spiral staircase, I was informed the room would be 40€ (just over $50).  Seeing as how I've paid less for a hotel, I wasn't about to settle for this, so I turned around and played hardball, to which my opponent went to his lowest offer possible - 38€.  I went back to the street, and back to square one.

Luckily the next one I found, run by a one-eyed man named Carlos, went for 20€ a night, sold.  I proceeded to take one the greatest showers in recent memory and then slept hard until my 7am wake-up call.