DOS MIL ONCE

So it’s a new year and after a return trip home for the holidays I’m officially back to Spain.  I think it’s safe to say that my blog got off to a pretty solid start only to fizzle off at the end.  What began as a plethora of stories, videos, and pictures of the “reality” of life in Galicia quickly crashed and burned into a stagnant blog filled with broken promises, leaving my loyal followers out there wondering what has become of me.  Will I ever tell you the crab story or let you know what happened on my “big puente?”  Let’s hope so.  Although at this point we’re probably going to have to go with the abbreviated version.  That’s okay though because 2011 will be sure to have it’s fair share of good times to relay to everyone back home.  So where do I begin?

Well first off I’ve got to say that it was great being home.  Nothing beats seeing friends and family… it’s the best thing in the world.  Although I got to see a lot of people, there were still tons that I didn’t get to see, which is pretty lame.  I guess as you grow up you don’t get to see the people who you care about as frequently as earlier in life.  Whether it’s moving out of home or graduating from college (or moving to another continent…), it’s inevitable that this is going to happen.  I guess this is the essence of growing up, becoming an individual.  Growing up has been a tough one for me (maybe for all of us… or maybe just me).  The important thing is that you find a way to do it, even if it takes moving thousands of miles away from home.  Either way, I still feel like a kid and probably always will, and I don’t see anything wrong with that.  Friends and family… I love you all.  I’m pretty lucky.

Now that I’ve got the philosophical and emotional stuff out of the way, it’s time to get down to business.  I guess we can start off with the abbreviated versions of the stories that I promised you long ago.

Eating crabs and octopus with fishermen:  So I was pretty bored one night sitting at home here in my pueblo.  Oscar had gone home for the weekend and I was sitting around the apartment wondering what to do with my time.  I decided to go out on the town.  Leaving my apartment at about midnight (early for Spanish standards) I walked across town to a bar that I had previously been to with Oscar.  It’s a pretty cool bar… they play good music and have cool decorations.  It’s called “Aloha.”  I sat down at the bar by myself and ordered a beer.  Then another… then another.  Finally I made eye contact with this girl that I recognized.  It was one of Oscar’s friends (an old girlfriend to be exact) that I had met the weekend before.  She invited me over to hang out with her and a couple of her friends.  There were three of them – two girls and one guy.  We got to talking and upon learning that I was from Chicago, the dude got pretty excited.  He began talking to me about the history of music in Chicago, primarily its roots in blues and jazz.  He started throwing out all of these names expecting me to know what he was talking about.  I didn’t have a clue, but I definitely learned a lot that night.  The four of us ended up going around to a bunch of local bars that night and it was a really fun time.  After the bars we went back to the guy’s (Fernando’s) house.  I have never seen so many CDs in my life.  He had pretty much the entire history of blues and jazz covered.  It was impressive.  A night that began with me sitting at home bored ended with me heading back home at 10 AM after experiencing a crash course in blues, jazz, and the bars of Ribeira.  Fernando, the fisherman, invited me to come to his house for dinner the next night.  Not confident if he was serious or just being overly friendly, I was hesitant to call him the next day, but when he answered he was happy to hear from me and told me to come right over.  Quick side note: something I have realized over and over again is that people in Spain don’t offer things just for the sake of offering them… just for the sake of being polite.  If you are offered something here it is because the person is truly interested in doing it for you or giving it to you.  Otherwise, the Spaniards wouldn’t even waste their time.  Anyways, I was walking over to Fernando’s wondering what was going to be on the menu for dinner.  I expected the standard Spanish ham and some bread and cheese… pretty basic, but when I walked into the apartment I quickly realized that I’m not in Spain… I am in Galicia.  I was welcomed by a counter full of giant crabs and an octopus.  Yes, an octopus was just chillin on the counter.  The crabs had been caught fresh that same day and Fernando informed me that his friend Nacho (who was also there) had caught the octopus a few days ago and had put it in the freezer, saving it for a special occasion.  Octopus in the freezer… pretty standard right?  Long story short, the crab legs were awesome.  No butter, salt, nothing… just crab.  Now they also take the head (or body… not quite sure what it is) of the crab and break the shell off making a sort of bowl with the body.  After removing what they deemed “non-edible” they took what remained, mixed it up in the shell, and made a sort of soup that they ate with bread.  Needless to say, I could not distinguish between the edible and non-edible.  I probably would have just thrown the whole thing away.  I mean, since when do you eat crab-guts soup?  I guess once you arrive in Ribeira.  Of course I had to try it and, long story short, it was not awesome.  I would equate it to taking a scoop of the ocean floor, sprinkling it with crab shit and then eating it.  Now the octopus on the other hand was incredible.  They grilled it right there in the kitchen and after sprinkling it with salt and drizzling it with olive oil, we dug in.  I dominated some serious octopus that night, and it won’t be the last time.  Since that night I’ve hung out with Fernando and his friends quite a bit.  It’s a guarantee to see him out on the weekends and we’ve got the Sunday night poker game every week.  He has promised me to take him fishing with him out on the ocean.  This would truly be an incredible experience and I hope that I actually get to do it.  I feel confident that I will.  After all, Spaniards don’t offer things just to offer them.

Big puente – Trip to Barcelona and Extremadura:  This was a crazy one.  I will start by saying that I never made it to Barcelona.  It was an interesting few days to say the least.  As I was saying, I had decided to do a bit of traveling that week, a plan which was effectively derailed by the massive surprise strike by the Spanish air traffic controllers.  Pretty much, every air traffic controller in Spain “called in sick” on the biggest travel weekend of the year.  Yeah, they don’t really mess around here.  Although it was singlehandedly one of the most frustrating and downright bizarre things that I’ve lived through, strangely enough, I feel like I got a certain bit of enjoyment out of it all.  I feel like I experienced and survived a significant moment in Spanish history, a moment which, for me, began at 7:30 in the morning on Friday, December something, 2010.

The sound of my alarm that morning was more annoying than usual, but in typical Jeremy fashion I had left all of the important tasks that I needed to accomplish for the morning as opposed to doing them the night before, so I had no time to complain.  I did snooze it twice though.  In a flash, I slammed a coffee, cut my hair (also known as buzzing the dome), showered, packed for ten days of travels, and was out the door by 9:00, giving me just enough time to make it to the bus station for my 9:15 bus to Santiago.  It was a really foggy morning.  I mean extremely foggy.  It was so bad that on the way to Santiago, I witnessed perhaps the worst highway backup in the history of mankind, or at least Spain.  What began with a standard rear-end collision turned into miles upon miles of stopped cars.  People walking up and down the road trying to figure out what had happened.  Some had just resorted to leaving their cars and forming groups to chainsmoke cigarettes.  Fortunately, this was all happening on the other side of the highway, although maybe I should have taken it as a sign of things to come.  About the same time I got a call from Mike from Philly.  Mike and I were headed to Barcelona together, planning on meeting my English friend Ben there, along with one of Ben’s “mates.”  I was really looking forward to seeing Ben, as I hadn’t seen him in two years, since the epic two-week Euro road trip in which some drunk Belgian dude insulted us by saying, “I know your mother… and she is… BORING!”  He really got us on that one.  So, Mike from Philly called and informed me that the highway he needed to take to get to Santiago for our flight had been closed due to ice/fog.  Fortunately though he was able to catch a train instead and would still be getting to the airport on time for our 2:15 flight.  At around 11:o0 I got to the airport.  I gave Mike a call to let him know that he need not stress about time because there were many flights delayed because of the fog.  The naive traveler chalked it up to the fog at least, but unbeknownst to us (is that a word?), the strike had already begun.

When Mike got to the airport he introduced me to his new friend Xaco (Sha-Ko).  Mike had met Xaco at the train station in La Coruña and found out that he too was on our flight headed to Barcelona.  So Xaco, Mike, and I headed through security and up to the gate and began to wait for our flight.  That’s when we began to hear the announcements…. Flight 384 to Madrid – CANCELLED, Flight 992 to Sevilla – CANCELLED, Flight 140 to Paris – CANCELLED.  Still, everyone just assumed that it was because of the weather.  As our scheduled departure time passed, our flight had been changed to delayed on the screens.  Then, we heard our flight number come across the intercom.  Flight 625 to Barcelona…. everyone at the gate waited silently…. CANCELLED.  What happened next is hard to describe.  After the announcement that our flight was canceled there was about a 15 second pause where everyone at the gate looked around in silence, confused, wondering what to do.  Then, it was like everyone realized at once that they needed to resolve the situation (ourselves included) and the only way to do this was to go downstairs to the RyanAir information desk.  Literally, after the 15 seconds of silence everyone began to sprint down the airport corridor all at once.  Synchronized mayhem if there is such a thing.  I remember running with Xaco, leading the pack, looking back for Mike to see him running dying of laughter at the same time.  In the midst of a pack of panicked Spaniards, Mike from Philly and I thought it was the funniest thing in the world.  It was when we made it downstairs to the help desk that we realized what we were dealing with.  Everyone was scrambling in line, trying to get to the front to gather some information.  When we got there we were informed of the strike and presented with our options.  Flights from Portugal… another flight from Santiago later that night or in the morning… none of which could be guaranteed.  Basically, over the next 24 hours we tried to catch 3 different flights (all of which were cancelled), took a cab to the train station (all of the trains were full), and slept in the airport trying to get a flight in the morning (cancelled).  We also wasted money eating crappy, overpriced airport food and filled out hojas de reclamación (to get our money back for our flights… which amazingly we actually did get back).  It was great that Xaco was there with us through all of this because he helped us every step along the way.  More importantly, we talked with him all day about various topics from history to politics to just life in general.  Here is one of my life theories… anyone who has a shaved head and a beard is generally a sweet dude.  Xaco had a shaved head and a beard, and needless to say, he ruled.  Xaco gave up on Barcelona before we did and decided not to spend the night in the airport.  When he left we exchanged numbers and parted ways.  It was weird that we all were kinda sad our experience together was coming to an end.  One day I will have a shaved head and a beard.  The next morning Mike and I also gave up on Barcelona and we both went home to our respective pueblos.  After spending a couple of days at home, I rearranged my plans and headed down to Extremadura on a train.  When I got to my old town it was like returning home.  I got to visit my schools where I taught and saw so many people, some of which I had forgotten about.  No one had forgotten about me though, and I felt really special and appreciated.  I spent five great days in Villanueva and I can’t wait to go back.  I know I’m leaving out some details but it’s time I wrap it up.  You’ll have to come visit to see for yourself.

It’s good to be back in the blog routine… hopefully I can keep it up.

Big “Puente” Coming Up

So this coming week there is a holiday in Spain.  As I don’t work on Fridays, the vacation has already begun for me.  Next Monday is “El Día de la Constitución” (Day of the Constitution) and next Wednesday is “El Día de la Virgen” (The Day of the Virgin).  Yes, that should be taken in a religious context.  So basically there is no school on Tuesday and because I only have two hours of class on Thursday they gave it to me off.  So as of right now I don’t have to return to school until December 13th.  I’ve decided to take advantage of this and do some traveling.  I’m off to Barcelona until Tuesday and then I’ll be heading back to my former Spanish town in Extremadura to hang out with old friends and teachers and what not.  I remember when I was in Villanueva (my old town) I met someone from Barcelona and he told me that Extremadura is “el culo de España” (the ass of Spain).  He made it pretty clear that it was in a cultural sense, not geographical.  I disagree, but I am interested to see how the people I meet this weekend in Barcelona compare to my “amigos extremeños.”  I’m really excited to see Barcelona as I’ve never been.  It’s also going to be great to see people in Villanueva that I haven’t seen since I left Spain the first time.

I still need to tell the crab story I know… I’m sorry.  After this trip I will have plenty to add to that story.  The first thing I’ll do when I get back (after taking a huge siesta) will be posting on this blog.  It’s a promise.  Until then, enjoy life and be happy!

Here’s a shot looking down on my town during my walk up to school one day.  Power lines are lame…

HASTA PRONTO!

First Big Weekend Trip – Ferrol

It has been brought to my attention via various sources around the internet that I have been slacking in updating this blog.  I tend to agree.  To my loyal followers, I offer my apologies.  It has been almost two weeks since I last posted.  Needless to say, these past two weeks have been pretty busy, as I’ve been getting situated here in Ribeira.  I did however have the chance to take my first big trip of the year last weekend.  I decided to go visit my friend Chris in Ferrol, a Galician city about two hours north of me.  I met Chris about 5 years ago while working at the fine institution known as Nonno’s Pizza, Pasta, & Sandwiches.  Last March, he called me out of the blue (I hadn’t heard from him in over a year) asking me about my trip to Spain, wondering what he needed to do in order to have a similar experience.  That phone call was really the beginning of my journey to come back to Spain.  Without Chris, I’m not sure if I would have had the motivation to do all the necessary paperwork to return.   I’m glad he called that day, otherwise I might not have ever come back.  I might not have ever followed my heart.

I was fortunate enough to find a group of teachers from my school that were heading to Ferrol the same weekend, and they were more than happy to take me along with them.  Three señoras and myself, all packed into one lime green, eco-friendly European hatchback.  Pretty standard.  When we got to Ferrol they dropped me off and we went our separate ways for the weekend.  It then dawned upon me that I really had no idea where I needed to go; all I knew was that I had to get to the Plaza España.  So I ask the first guy I see how to get there and he  gives me a pretty weak response.  Pointing off into a general direction he says (I think in Galego), “second street, take a right,” and then goes right back into the restaurant where he was working.  Thanks guy.  At least I have a general direction.  So I second street take a right and within a few minutes I get to a large plaza.  Plaza España right?  Of course not.  Plaza de las Armas.  So I’m hanging in the Plaza de las Armas and I ask the first person I see how to get to the Plaza España.  I ask an older woman with a pleasant smile on her face.  She points off into a general direction and says something along the line of, “second street, take a right.”  She smiles at me and walks away.  Apparently an old man witnessed this interaction and could tell that I wasn’t too thrilled with this response so he decides to step in and take charge.  He points straight ahead at a large building dominating the square and says, “ayuntamiento,” in English more or less “town hall.”  He smiles, nods his head, and then walks away.  I’m still not quite sure why he thought that bit of information would help me, but nevertheless he seemed satisfied with his efforts.   So I go past the ayuntamiento then second street take a right and start walking towards where I think Plaza España is located.  I’m pretty confident that I’m headed in the right direction because I have been so expertly guided by the locals, but I decide to reassure myself and ask one more person.  To my luck there just so happened to be someone headed my direction, and he was obviously not from Galicia (I think he was Polish or something).  Just in case, I try and bust out my most proper Spanish and say, “Excuse me sir, I’m not sure if you can help me but I’m trying to get to Plaza España.  Do you know where Plaza España is?”  He gave me a blank stare, but his eyes lit up when I said Plaza España.  Struggling to use every ounce of energy he had in his brain he points down the street and definitively says “Calle… Siempre.”  Street… Always.  Perfect!  This guy knows what’s up.  Keep it simple man.  I love immigrants.  Why?  Because I am one.   I smile at him, nod my head and continue down the street with no plans to change my course.  Within a few minutes, I arrive at the Plaza España, and waiting for me there are Chris and his roommate Mike from Philly.

Now Mike from Philly just goes by Mike, but I think it’d way cooler if he would always go by Mike from Philly, and if you say it with a sweet Philly accent.  Yeah I don’t really know what a Philly accent sounds like either.  Just think Rocky.  So Chris, Mike from Philly, and I start heading back to their place and they begin to give me the game plan for the entire weekend.  Tapas at La Piedra, a local bar where they’ve already befriended the bartenders, dinner with some of Chris’s students (he teaches at an official language school and has students who are like 20 – 30 years old), and of course, chicas, or so they say.  We get to their apartment and Mike had some things to finish up for his afternoon classes, so Chris and I head straight to La Piedra.

Throughout the course of the weekend, we definitely spent more time at La Piedra than anywhere else.  Every night there was a great environment with great tapas, and it always helps when you’re friends with the bartenders.  Earlier, Chris had told me about Rubén and Marcelo.  Rubén, a party animal at heart, recently had to tame his ways due to the birth of his now one-month old daughter, but this weekend he got special permission from his mujer to show us a good time.  I actually don’t know if he got permission.  In fact he probably didn’t.  Regardless, he showed us a great time all weekend.  His partner in crime, Marcelo, is originally from Uruguay but has now been in Spain for ten years.  He spoke with a typical Uruguayan accent (which means I had a really hard time understanding him) and I also think it’s safe to say that he has been to the gym every day for at least the past ten years.  I especially tried not to piss him off, but I don’t think it would have been possible anyways.  Just like Rubén, he was overly friendly and showed us a great time all weekend.

Here is a video of a typical evening at La Piedra.  Note the small child sitting next to us at the bar snagging tapas.  They don’t ask for IDs in Spain.  They served tapas here in a way that I had never seen before.  They placed multiple trays around the bar, each containing a different tapa, and would gradually move them around the bar so that everyone could try each different type.  Notice that the two trays in front of us are empty.  That’s what happens when you put the tapas in front of a group of hungry americanos.  Chris starts to talk about some guy breaking cars or something.  I think that’s in reference to the guy directly across the bar who Mike claimed looked like Robert De Niro.  I made a mistake and zoomed in on the guy in the pink shirt.  I don’t think he has smashed any cars in his lifetime.  Marcelo and Rubén are holding down the bar.

Throughout the weekend, our typical day consisted of more or less the following:

–          Sleep until early afternoon

–          After waking up, wander around Ferrol for a few hours.  There isn’t really much to do in Ferrol in terms of tourism.  To give you perspective, I think the highlight of any afternoon came when Mike from Philly bought a new pair of basketball shoes.  They were 20 euro.  Chris also routinely dominated us playing gin rummy.

–          At around 8:30 or so we would head over to La Piedra for some tapas and beers.  Estrella Galicia Reserva 1906 was our drink of choice.

–          Around 10:00 or so we would meet up for dinner with whomever we had arranged to eat with.  Highlights included eating at two different Argentine BBQ places as well as having a typical Galician dinner with some of Chris’s students.

–          After dinner, we would return to close out La Piedra and get free beers from Rubén and Marcelo.  Then we’d head out to the bars.  Usually around 12:30 or so.  After barhopping until about five in the morning, we were then presented with the option of going home or going to the discoteca in town, “West.”  I think it was supposed to be a Wild West themed discoteca but the only thing that I really saw were a bunch of random barrels that replaced tables.  We went once (Saturday night) and needless to say, I did not feel like I was in the Wild West.  They did however briefly cut away from the typical Spanish discoteca music and played Queen – “We Will Rock You,” and then shortly after, Nirvana – “Smells like Teen Spirit.”  For Nirvana we started a mosh pit in the middle of the dance floor and various Spaniards joined in.  It ruled.  The bouncers then came and told us to calm down using the universal two palm, fingers up technique; however it did not even cross their mind to kick us out because we were in Spain.  It was pretty awesome.

Here are some more videos and photos chronicling the weekend.  The photo is of the typical Galician dinner that we enjoyed with Chris’s students.  Then we’ve got some flaming shots with Rubén, Marcelo, Chris, and Mike (Notice that they all took the shots without me… cabrones).  Also, we drank the shots with straws.  I’ve determined that anytime you have to use a straw to drink a liquor that is strong enough to be lit on fire it is bad news.  Finally we’ve got “We Will Rock You” at West followed by me waiting at the bus stop the same morning to head back to my town.  As you can tell from my commentary, it was a pretty long night.  In fact, it was a pretty long weekend.  I’m staying home for this weekend.  Hopefully I can discover some of the nightlife here in Ribeira.  Hasta la próxima!