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.”

The Best Gelato?

In my travels through Italy, I have tasted many different types of Gelato. I usually go for similar flavors at each gelateria. I often order cioccolata, strachiatella, canella, or nutella. It is because of my penchant for the same tastes that I can compare and contrast different producers of gelato. There are your basic gelaterias that are commonly found in touristy locations. These gelatos are often decorated with something related to the flavor they represent. The kinder gelato has pieces of kinder, the lemon has lemon rinds, etc. These shops even sell fancy sundaes and may offer more flavors than a Baskin Robbins. All of the flair is used to draw in tourists who are just excited at the prospect of eating any gelato. If you read tourist books closely, they will often point you to the ‘best’ gelaterias in any city. Here, the gelato is made in house, with better ingredients. It is not the mass-produced gelato you would find in the other shops. Each time that I read about a fantastic gelateria, I make it my mission to find it and taste it for myself.

In Florence, I was told that both Grom and Vivoli sold the best gelato. Grom is on a tiny street in the center of the city. Its flavors change on a regular basis and they often sell different types of chocolate depending on the percentage and where the chocolate came from. Vivoli is also on a small street, but in an area that is much less travelled. It was very close to where I lived and studied when I stayed in Florence for a month, so I had more chances to try it. I found Grom to be good, but nothing spectacular. Vivoli’s gelato wasn’t any better, but I did find their granitas to be particularly good. A friend of mine was also told about a gelateria right in the heart of the city. To me, this one looked just the same as all the others, and its flavors weren’t any better. In Rome, I heard over and over again about a mythical gelateria by the Trevi fountain. I heard about it from my first visit to Italy, during my most recent visit to Italy, and in various guidebooks. Every time I was near the Trevi, I kept an eye out for this supposed ‘best’ gelateria. Fed up with my inability to find this place, I went on to google maps and found out exactly where it was. Four years after first hearing about this place, I got my first taste. And, surprise, surprise, it was not any better than Grom or Vivoli. San Crispino, as the gelateria was called, was not as good as it was said to be.

Being quite disenchanted with the phrase ‘the best gelato,’ I was in doubtful when I was told that Nervi had the best gelato and that I had to try it. Always up for anything chocolate-y, I accepted my friends’ invitation. My ride parked her mini cooper illegally because there was no parking (this is Italy). We sat down to order. I was told that I should have canella and nutella, a combination I approved of heartily. I might have chosen it without being told to. This time, the gelato really was the best gelato ever. All of the others had very similar tastes, and I couldn’t distinguish a better one from a worse one. The taste of this gelato left me with no doubt that was superior. I wasn’t able to try any other flavors, but for me it didn’t matter. I would order these two flavors every time. I was tempted to order a second helping, but restrained myself. So, if you ever find yourself in the north of Italy near Genoa, make sure to visit Gelateria Priaruggia at Via Quarto, 1.

(written Fall 2009)

Preamble to the Re-Awakened Blog

When writing this blog previously, I struggled with disclosure. What is appropriate to share in a personal blog? There are those who believe that no personal or identifying information should be shared on the internet. One could even go so far as to say that an opinion written on a blog could be sharing too much information. But what would be the entertainment and the fun in keeping all of the interesting material to oneself? I think a good rule to live by is to only share the things that you would be willing to share with a stranger. Something that you would share with a best friend might be something to be kept private. Would you care if your enemy had their hands on this information? No, then you are probably ok. Due to the rights and feelings of others, one’s personal life should not be shared on the internet when it relates to other people. It can be very difficult to tell what they would agree to share in a public arena. So, rule of thumb: only share things you are comfortable with having everyone know about you.

Now that I know what information to share or not to share, it is still difficult to decide what topics to write about and how to write them. It is one thing to write a journal to oneself, a letter to a single person, or even a blog that you know only a few close friends and family will be reading. And it seems pretty apparent the kinds of topics one should write for a very public blog, say a newspaper or other source for important information. But what about blog whose focus is on friends and family but might be read by complete strangers? How do you write to an unknown audience when sharing information about yourself? Normally, when telling stories or sharing personal information, one is able to know the audience beforehand and to gauge their reaction during the course of the telling. But how does one weave a story or address audiences that are unknown? I guess this is the struggle that a very private writer would have to make when moving into the public sphere. So, who knows, maybe this will be good for me. 

Barcelona vs. Madrid

Weekends in the fall mean Charger football games. In the last few years, the San Diego Chargers have actually put together a decent team. I say ‘decent,’ since the Chargers should have won the Super Bowl at least once, but always lose in the playoffs. Everyone has high expectations for them, but the Chargers never do as well as their hype. Most people in San Diego are apathetic about our sports teams at best. They only seem to care when one of the teams is doing well. Then people will root enthusiastically and proudly sport team jerseys. There seems to be quite a large portion of Charger fans these days; however, I think there are few die-hard fans. Many San Diegans are oblivious to the teams even when they are doing well. The Padres, unlike the Chargers, have been terrible for way too long. Very few people nowadays are proclaiming their support for the Padres. Probably most people go to games just for the fun of attending a baseball game, not because of their love for the team. I am not calling San Diegans fair-weather fans, just unconcerned.

However, things are very different in Barcelona. While there are some ‘haters’, most citizens of Barcelona root enthusiastically for their soccer team, F.C. Barcelona. I don’t think that the fans would be much less supportive of a losing team. However, Barça did very well last year. They won La Liga, the Copa del Rey, and the Champions League. The city went crazy when they beat Manchester United for the Champions League title, which cemented their treble. Everyone rushed the fountains in Plaça Catalunya. There was cheering and banner waving for hours and cars honked their horns in the time with team cheers. Even in less important games, everyone finds a place to watch the game. They go to the stadium, attend away games, watch in their house, or join friends at a local bar. The newspapers report detailed descriptions and explanations before and after each game and the players are revered. F.C. Barcelona also has the biggest stadium in Europe and can pack in almost 100,000 screaming Barça fans.

I had the pleasure of watching Barcelona play their main rival, Real Madrid, last Sunday. I am not quite sure which rivalry is more heated, F.C. Barcelona vs. Real Madrid or USC vs. UCLA. Both rivalries extend far beyond the field of play, so wins and losses have a deeper significance than just pride. Barcelona’s rivalry with Madrid extends even to economics and politics. I joined members of my club at our restaurant to cheer on Barça. The room was packed full of people who cheered and booed whenever something significant happened. We witnessed one goal and many fantastic defensive stops, as Barcelona ruled over Real Madrid 1-0. Because the club is near Camp Nou, Barça’s stadium, we were able to witness the massive number of people going to and from the game. Normally on Sundays, the streets of my neighborhood are quiet. Most people are just out for an evening stroll with their dogs. Every store is closed, so the streets are used for relaxation before the workweek begins anew. With the number of people out for the game, you would not know it was Sunday. It parallels what happens every Sunday in the United States, but with much more vibrancy. I guess I’ve just traded one type of football team for another.

The same weekend I also had my own personal Barcelona vs. Madrid experience. My team travelled to Madrid to play C.N. Moscardo. We took about an hour long flight to Madrid in the morning and were bused to the club. We had a long and relaxing lunch there and played our game at 4:30. We knew going into the game that the referees would not be unbiased. It is similar to a Los Angeles team travelling to San Diego or vice versa, but with a greater dislike. We found the referees were as we expected. I swear that I saw one of the referees smirking at some of the calls he made. I don’t believe that they were purposefully trying to hamper the game, but they did not make our lives easy. Luckily we won 22-12, but we should have let fewer goals in. I was glad to leave and head back to Barcelona after the game. The pool was indoors, with a warm air temperature and a much too warm pool temperature. I felt like I was burning up during the game. The outside was colder than Barcelona, so I was glad to head back home. A few of my teammates and I sampled the Barcelona nightlife afterwards to celebrate our win. All-in-all, it was a fun and victorious weekend for Barcelona.

Força Barça!

My First Thanksgiving as an Expat…

…was just like another day in Barcelona. Of course, I waited until the last minute to decide how to celebrate. I couldn’t make it to the Thanksgiving dinner held by the Hotel Arts, as it was during practice. Since the only way I commemorated Thanksgiving was by wearing new clothes for dinner, I will relate my day as an example of a typical day in Spain.

10:00 (or maybe 9): My alarm goes off and I hit snooze.

11:00: I actually wake up, get ready and eat breakfast.

12:00 I meet the other girls at the store across the street. We hang out for 5-10 minutes, before going to the locker rooms to change.

12:15 or 12:20, sometimes 12:30 (this is Spain): We actually start practice, usually in the gym. Today we lifted at 80%.

Between 1 and 1:30: We get into the pool and swim some before doing water polo drills.

2:30: Practice ends, we change, and my roommate and I go to lunch. Spanish tortilla was on the menu today. It is the best meal at the restaurant.

4:30: I am home from lunch. Today I went and bought shampoo during my free time. Wooo!

7:30: I head to the gym for extra cardio, if I feel like it. Today I used the stationary bike for a half an hour.

8:30: Again we meet at the store. This time we are usually quicker to get to practice.

8:40: We do more water polo drills or scrimmage. We played terribly against the younger boys’ team this evening.

10:00: Practice ends. My roommate and I go to dinner. New shirt, new pants, new shoes for tonight! I had to acknowledge Thanksgiving, somehow, since I am missing my favorites: turkey and mashed potatoes. And cheesecake. But, most importantly, monkey bread! At least there is Christmas.

1 AM or maybe 2: I am hopefully asleep.

Such an exciting life! The trick will be to use my free time for more interesting purposes than buying shampoo. Some examples so far: the Aquarium, shopping, dealing with my broken computer. But those are for another time.