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.

USA! USA! USA!

To start off…

I give homage to my countrymen.  I’ll try and take a more conservative approach to communicating with the locals.