Man It Was Cold!

            As I was checking my email on my yahoo account on Monday, a news headline popped up, like this one, that said there had been a bombing Moscow’s Domodedevo airport. Of course, all bombings have a chilling effect, but for me this one was more personal. I have been fortunate enough to have never been near a bombing, but this particular one caught my attention as I had flown through Moscow twice last year. What were the chances that I had been there?

        Our second quarterfinal game for the LEN cup was being played in Khanty-Mansiysk. The first round was at home, so for the second game we travelled to the home of our competition: Siberia, Russia. This is crazy enough in itself. How many people go to Siberia willingly? And more importantly, how many Americans go to Siberia? Not only was I getting the chance to travel to a such a foreign and inhospitable place, one that few American ever have the chance to experience, it was going to be in the dead of winter. To play water polo. In a pool.

Warcraft or Il Videogioco

In the Fall of 2008, I took an Italian class in which I had to write a short story (in Italian) in some sort of surrealist manner. This is the story that I wrote in English before I revised/translated it into Italian.

            The school year started out normal enough. I moved into my dorm room and met my new roommate, who seemed friendly in an average sort of way. You know, not too nice that she seemed fake, but at least willing to start on good terms. We exchanged pleasantries, helped each other unpack our too-much junk for our too-small dorm room, compared DVD choices, admired each other’s posters, and lamented about the fact that we got stuck with the least desirable building. “At least we are closer to the supermarket than all the other people on campus,” she said.

            “Yeah,” I replied, “but that’s only better since we are the farthest away from the dining hall.”

            “Don’t remind me. I’m already sick of that food and we just got back to campus!”

For Maestro

The problem with having two homes is that you are always leaving something behind. The worst is close to the time of departure, when all that fills your head is what you are losing. Even when you know you are going to a good place and even when you know you are coming back.

San Diego has always been my home and always will be. I don’t think a move to any other place can be called ‘permanent.’ I don’t expect to live any one place in particular for the rest of my life. Because I don’t want things to always be the same. I want to grow and have new experiences. For now there is no one place that will keep its hold on me.

However, I keep my link to San Diego because I have so few constants in my life. But in San Diego I have some semblance of a family and a place I am always welcome and safe. I can go out into the world knowing I have a haven to return to. Its like what your mom is supposed to be when you are a toddler. The house that can store my stuff and my dad will be there and I can always go to water polo because I am always welcome there to be and to play.

There is one link that has been lost however, and that is my link to Maestro. He was a most unusual and extraordinary cat mostly because he didn’t act as a cat would. He wasn’t interested in playing, or in being cuddled, and his favorite place to hang out was right in the thick of things.

Columbus Day

Columbus Day was celebrated last month in both Spain and the United States, so it seemed like a good time to talk about some of the similarities and differences between these two different cultures that I am currently a part of.

I was surprised that both Spain and the US celebrate the same holiday. This possibility had never occurred to me. Well, of course, holidays like Christmas and Easter are shared across borders as Christianity is found around the world. But how strange it is that two other countries share a national holiday and that it’s even celebrated at the same time!? And what are the odds that I’m a part of both? I’ve gotten used to celebrating country specific holidays, such as Italy’s end of fascism, Spain’s day of the constitution, and the US’s day of independence – holidays that wouldn’t make sense to celebrate in any other country. It wasn’t until I remembered who sent Columbus on his fateful voyage that I connected the dots. It is clear why the US would honor the person who ‘found’ the country, but it never occurred to me that Spain would also honor Columbus. Spain doesn’t even hold any territories in the Americas anymore! Of course, once I thought about it, it is only right that Spain would venerate the person who started the movement that led Spain to have the largest empire at that time.

There are differences between how holidays are celebrated. In Spain, Columbus Day includes events that celebrate the glory of Spain. There is a parade of the army after which the King greets them. From what I have been told by my Catalan roommate, however, is that most people actually dislike this practice. Only the most patriotic citizens are in favor of it. She says that patriotic displays remind most people of the dictatorship of Franco. Since the Catalans were particularly oppressed, they are especially against this patriotism. A second complaint is typical to all citizens everywhere: the parade costs too much money for little return!

In the US, we always observe Columbus Day on a Monday and often now the holiday is not even observed. Instead everyone works as usual. In Spain, Columbus Day is always celebrated on October 12^th. Since it falls on a Tuesday this year, Monday is also a de-facto holiday. On Tuesday, almost everything is closed, very similar to Sundays. Monday, because it only links the holiday to the weekend and is not a holiday itself, is not observed in the same manner. Most people don't have work or school. However, some people work and more stores will be open. The same phenomenon is found when Columbus Day falls on a Thursday; Friday will become a de-facto holiday. Unfortunately, as the holiday falls on a Wednesday next year, the only day off the Spaniards will get is Wednesday.

This is a very different mentality than the US. Since I have been here, we have already celebrated three holidays. The first was La Mercé, which is the major festival of Barcelona. There were so many activities I couldn’t attend them all. There were the procession of the giants (Gigantes), the fire run (Correfoc), the human towers (Castellers), live music, performances, etc. Columbus Day (Hispanidad) was the second holiday, and All Saints Day was the third. To me it seems that the Spanish take any excuse to have a holiday that they can!

Postscript:

A roommate in Barcelona from last May shared this newspaper article with me. Basically, it says that Columbus had stayed in the same apartment as we lived in! I’m sure many people have claimed this, but this story has the added benefit of being written by a historian.

Sunday Funday

Today was supposed to be an exciting day in Girona at the All-Saints Festival, but instead this happened:

I broke the glass on the door to our laundry/balcony-like room!

Last night, I had planned to catch the 8:45 train this morning to Girona, where I was going to meet my roommate to see the Castellers at 11. The castellers are human towers built from groups of men standing on each other's shoulders. You've likely seen a picture of them. After the castellers, we were going to spend the rest of the day going to whichever other events of the festival we desired. Then I was going to return to Barcelona in time for Halloween.

However, that was the first plan of the day that failed. It had started storming at about 3AM this morning, and consequently, when I was planning to leave for Girona, the storm had moved north. I received a text from my roommate that it wouldn't be worth it to go because of the rain and wind in Girona. I was partially relieved, because it meant that I got to sleep longer (which is never a bad thing).

When I woke up, I was in a pensive mood, and it seemed like a perfect day to write. Sundays in Spain are pretty relaxed. Most things are closed and people spend time with their families. You can feel the mood even in my apartment, which is technically on the 11th floor (but it's called the 9th). There are less cars, less people, and the trains and metros run less often. Today, there was even the calm that comes after a storm. Clearer skies, cleaner streets, and fresher air. Even the sun was serene. However, this plan to write failed as well.

I was just about to sit down and focus. I had finished cleaning a bit, and although I wanted some chips to snack on, I decided I would go downstairs to get them later. So I went into the kitchen to make a coffee to increase my relaxed and cozy mood. I had opened the sliding glass door to the balcony for some fresh air. Now, often, if the door so the balcony is open, a breeze will sweep through the apartment and cause doors to slam. I knew this, and knew that it wasn't a very breezy day. I was careful, but not worried, when I left the kitchen to return to the living room. As I was closing the door to the kitchen to prevent the draft, the door to the laundry room slammed shut. I'm sure you see where this is headed...

The door slammed shut so hard that the glass in the door shattered and spread all across the floor of the kitchen. I cursed loudly, put my coffee down, and went back into the kitchen to survey the damage. UGH. It wasn't just cracked or missing a few pieces of glass. There was a huge jagged hole in the door with the pieces of glass making it look like someone had roundhouse kicked it. With my plans ruined, or at least postponed, I sighed and started to clean up the mess. I swept up the glass and loaded it into a paper bag. Then I had to figure out what to do with the gaping whole in the door. It's not like it matters to prevent thieves or weather issues, but I couldn't leave it like it was.

The laundry room is called a rentador in Catalan, or a lavadero in Spanish. It is a common element to apartments in Spain. They are usually partially open to the air and are where the laundry is done and other cleaning supplies are kept. We often leave the door to the rentador open, as it is nice to have fresh air in the apartment. There is no need to worry about rain because the type of wall we have prevents most rain from entering, and it isn't like we have anything in the rentador that matters if it gets a little wet. I realized that it was important to patch up the hole just to prevent any further accidents or more pieces of glass falling. Thus, my trip to get chips was expedited.

Still cursing, I went to the OpenCor market, which is one of the few grocery-type stores open on Sundays. There I found some plastic sheeting, but no masking tape. I wasn't sure how I was going to attach anything to the door without something stronger than scotch tape. Hoping for some luck, I stopped by the Pakis on the way back home. This one of the many stores in Spain that are mostly run by people from Pakistan. They have longer hours than the regular stores, but only stock essentials like cold sodas and beer, boxed milk, candies, etc. You could compare them to a 7/11. As I stop by this Paki often, I have made friends with the owners. So when OpenCor and the Pakis didn't have any tape for sale that was stronger than scotch tape, the Pakis lent me their personal packing tape.

I spent the time I had planned to spend writing fixing the door with plastic on one side and paper bags on the other. This was an adventure in and of itself, as the tape kept sticking to everything but what I wanted it to. Then I had to wipe down all the surfaces that might have had small pieces of glass on them. I had to throw away the open box of salt, as who knows if there was glass that got mixed in. And I had to wash all of the dishes that were left, just in case glass got on them too. Then I swept again for good measure. What an unnecessary chore! And the kitchen was just cleaned yesterday!

Here is the final result of my clean-up:

A patched up door

And a bag full of shards of glass.

At least I got this blog-post written...

A Visual Representation of Things I Do in My Free Time

#1: What takes up most of my time:

The books I brought from home

I've already made it through 5 books in the two weeks I've been here, and I still have 6 months worth of newspaper comics. I hope to finish most of the books before Christmas.

#2: Due to my roommate's insistance:

I'm knitting a tri-color blanket. It will unintentionally match my ikea comforter.

#3: Spanish class and intercambios

#4: Writing - for the blog but mostly for myself

#5: Playing the guitar and listening to music

My guitar skills are very rudimentary

#6: Sightseeing in Barcelona and nearby

My recent trip to Platja d'Aro

#7: Photographing polo

One of the best

#8: Eating good food and hanging out with friends

This includes shopping, going to the movies and the beach, and watching Barça

#9: Making fiestas

Apolo

#10: Doing anything else fun or interesting I come across

Book Review: The Shadow of the Wind

A few nights ago I stayed up until 5 in the morning trying to finish a book that held me enchanted. This book, part mystery, part a book of wisdom, and part a story of growing up, kept me unable to go to sleep without getting to the last page and reaching its satisfying conclusion. The book drew me into its pages in a number of ways, starting in a flash, and then building up steadily until the final burst at the end of the novel. This book, called The Shadow of the Wind, was recommended to me both because of its outstanding story and because it is set in Barcelona. There is no better time to read a book set in Barcelona than when one is actually living here. I read the novel with Google Maps open so that I could see exactly which streets the characters were traversing, but it would be just as thrilling with no knowledge of Barcelona. Though it was originally written in Spanish by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, I read it in English so that I could understand every word.

I was enthralled with the book in its first chapter. It included many things that I love in a novel, a strong beginning, mysterious places, and a love of books. It is only a few pages into the novel when I knew that I would thoroughly enjoy it. Daniel’s father takes him to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, and describes it thus:

“Welcome to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, Daniel” … “This is a place of mystery, Daniel, a sanctuary. Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of a person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens. This place was already ancient when my father brought me here for the first time, many years ago. Perhaps as old as the city itself. Nobody knows for certain how long it has existed, or who created it. I will tell you what my father told me, though. When a library disappears, or a bookshop closes down, when a book is consigned to oblivion, those of us who know this place, its guardians, make sure that it gets here. In this place, books no longer remembered by anyone, books that are lost in time, live forever, waiting for the day when they will reach a new reader’s hands. In the shop we buy and sell them, but in truth books have no owner. Every book you see here has been somebody’s best friend. Now they have only us, Daniel. Do you think you’ll be able to keep such a secret?”

I love to read stories about people who share my passion for books, as they can understand the wonder that a good story brings. How time can disappear, and how even holding a book in your hand can bring a sense of contentment. They are people who love words for their own sake, who know the knowledge, wisdom, understanding one can glean from a well-written story. This sentence describes accurately the feeling I have when looking for a new book to read:

“I leafed through the pages, inhaling the enchanted scent of promise that comes with all new books, and stopped to read the start of a sentence that caught my eye.”

The instigating factor in the plot of The Shadow of the Wind is a book of the same name, which has a story that draws the protagonist (Daniel) in as I was drawn into the real novel. The description of the fictional novel gives a sense of Ruiz Zafon’s mastery of language and understanding of the power of words:

“My voice, rather stiff at first, slowly became more relaxed, and soon I forgot myself and was submerged once more in the narrative, discovering cadences and turns of phrase that flowed like musical motifs, riddles made of timbre and pauses I had not noticed during my first reading. New details, strands of images, and fantasy appeared between the lines and new shapes revealed themselves, as in the structure of a building looked at from different angles.” P. 41

I was disappointed that no more time was spent describing the plot of fictional novel, written by a secondary protagonist, Julian Carax. It is the mystery of Julian and his novels that drives Daniel throughout the entire book. The pacing of The Shadow of the Wind was perfect. The intense moments were spaced out with more pleasant ones. Fermin Romero de Torres, the older, wiser side-kick of Daniel, provides much wisdom and comedic relief. And about three-fourths of the way through the book, there is a revelation given about the outcome of the novel. Normally, this sort of knowledge would ruin the ending of a book, but this one was so perfectly timed that it only added more suspense and caused me to choose to stay up even later instead of going to bed. The mystery that Daniel uncovers becomes deeper and clearer with each retelling. The truth of what happened and each character’s impact on events is fully understood by the end of the novel. There are no loose ends to drive the reader crazy and no motivations that are left unexplored.

One of my favorite aspects of the novel are the pearls of wisdom that are dropped throughout the book. Fermin tells Daniel some of them and others Daniel discovers for himself. These truths are often ones that require age and a certain amount of perspective to gain, and it pleases me immensely to see them written here. I hope many people will take this advice to heart. Here are a few samples:

“I tried to concentrate on picking up the thread of the story. The hero, a cynical but good-hearted detective, was telling a secondary character why women like Veronica Lake were the ruin of all sensible males and why all one could do was love them desperately and perish, betrayed by their double dealings. Fermin Romero de Torres, who was becoming an adept film scholar, called this genre ‘the praying mantis paradigm.’ According to him, its permutations were nothing but misogynist fantasies for constipated office clerks, for pious women shriveled with boredom who dreamed about turning to a life of vice and unbridled lechery.”

“’A good father?’

‘Yes. Like yours. A man with a head, a heart, and a soul. A man capable of listening, of leading and respecting a child, and not of drowning his own defects in him. Someone whom a child will not only love because he’s his father but will also admire for the person he is. Someone he would want to grow up to resemble.’”

“Nothing feeds forgetfulness better than war, Daniel. We all keep quiet and they try to convince us what we’ve seen, what we’ve done, what we’ve learned about ourselves and about others, is an illusion, a passing nightmare. Wars have no memory, and nobody has the courage to understand them until there are no voices left to tell what happened, until the moment comes when we no longer recognize them and they return, with another face and another name, to devour what they have left behind.”

“But the years went by in peace. Time goes faster the more hollow it is. Lives with no meaning go straight past you, like trains that don’t stop at your station.”

“Look, Daniel. Women, with remarkable exceptions like your neighbor Merceditas, are more intelligent than we are, or at least more honest with themselves about what they want or don’t want. Another question is whether they tell you or the world. You’re facing the enigma of nature, Daniel. Womankind is an indecipherable maze. If you give her time to think, you’re lost. Remember: warm heart, cold mind. The seducer’s code.”