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.