Lindsey's B-day Sunday 8/24/14

A week after Lindsey treated me to a complementary full body massage at a swanky (love that word) SOHO spa for my B-day, I set up a scavenger  hunt around the neighborhood. Oof! That juxtaposition of the two events in the same sentence really makes mine pale in comparison to hers.

We had decided not to spend much money this year on birthday celebrations since we are preparing for our big trip. Feels weird to put that on paper, too. Thus the gift card that she used and my attempt at something creative and fun. I put clues around the neighborhood, mostly at restaurants that we like, and she had to find them and guess the next location. The end result was brunch at our favorite place, but we cut the scavenger hunt short due to hunger pains. I also gave her a leather keychain with the coordinates of Brooklyn engraved into it so that she could remember 'home' while we are gone.

I failed in my responsible boyfriend duties but not have a follow-up activity ready, and then even more when I didn't check the subway stop of the museum we decided on, and we got off 30 blocks too soon. Womp womp. We argued in the way that we do, but soon got over it in the way that we do.

We went to the Museum of the City of New York and saw a really cool exhibition on the originators of NYC graffiti in the 70's and 80's. They had some really intricate and raw pieces. We also saw a short video on the evolution of the city, and some period accessories from the Gilded Age. Afterwards, we laid in Central Park for a bit and then walked down Lexington Avenue to eat my first Shake Shack burger. Yum diddy yum yum. Overall, it was a good day and I hope that Lindsey enjoyed it--minus my drama.

NYC Subway

    What grabbed your attention most when you first moved to NYC? For me, it was adjusting to riding the subway every week. There are 5 million daily riders of this underground beast, and in NYC there are 10,000 inhabitants to every square mile. This means the subway often looks like this:

And while it's not always at capacity, one can't help but notice how completely unnatural and disturbing it is to be packed shoulder to shoulder in a box of steel that's speeding underground.

The subway is the single largest contributor to my anxious existence in NYC.  I constantly find myself rushing as soon as I hit the stairs of the subway because I'm worried that I might miss a train and have to wait underground listening to music or staring into space for 8-10 minutes until the next train arrives.

And then there's the atmosphere on the train.  It's overwhelming--and sweaty. It makes you question humanity. At least that's what it does for me. Why? Because there's something eerie about being in such close proximity with people but totally ignoring them. It's as if everyone is trying to deny the existence of everyone around them while simultaneously sneaking peeks at what their neighbor is doing. If you make accidental eye contact with someone then you just keep your head moving so that it seems like it was an accident. Put your headphones in if you don't like being with your own thoughts, or stare at your phone connecting dots to earn points, or read or try to sleep. Those are your options. Just whatever you do, don't make friendly conversation with the people around you. Remember: they don't exist, and only your concerns and projects and deadlines and anxiety matter. It's too much to ask that you learn something about the stranger beside you. It's a chore to hold a conversation and time is much better utilized crushing candy. Now I sound like one of the ads I see everyday.

    I'm not trying to sound like the typical "anti-cellphone we're too connected but disconnected and we don't-know-how-to-communicate-anymore" person, but that's how it is, and I'm just like everyone else in this respect. This bothers me to no end. "So many people I don't want to talk to anyone," is usually what I think on the ride home after a day spent being jostled on the stairs and sidewalk while rushing to get to a job or to meet a friend. Let's face it: commuting is a chore and it quickly becomes every man for himself. But, luckily, there's an easy solution:

Ahhhhh!  

 All things considered, though, the subway can be quite interesting. On any given ride you can see a vast array of things good and bad. You've got the lawyer type with an air of self-importance seaping from his overcoat and short-cropped hair, your dysfunctional mother that is disdainfully talking to her children like they're her friends, telling them things that they don't need to know like why their father isn't around, and the way too drunk guy incoherently speaking to himself and everyone at the same time while everyone does their best not to become the accidental focus of his attention. Then there are the beggars announcing their misfortune for the whole train to hear, and the entrepreneurial candy sellers, and the always entertaining dancers who thrust their show at you whether you want it or not. SO many groups of teenagers trying to earn a buck by impressing you with their hat-flipping skills. Props for trying, though.

If only we'd learn to put ourselves out there a little more like them, and not be so scared to say hello to the person next to us. I believe that at the end of the day most people like a casual and sometimes enriching conversation. And if they're not in the mood, then no harm no foul, you don't have to be embarrassed sitting next to them for the rest of the ride. At least you tried, and often times trying makes all the difference.

I'm not sure why I'm so obsessed with people dropping their barriers. Everyone is entitled to their privacy, it's just that part of me thinks that the fear of talking to the stranger next to you is part of the larger problem of disconnection and alienation that we are experiencing as a society, and this will only continue to get worse.

Europe de l'est

I lived in Spain for 17 months before I officially left the Iberian Peninsula for the first time. I unofficially left the peninsula when I lived on Gran Canaria for 6 weeks over the summer, although that almost African island is still considered to be part of Spain even with 1200km between them. When I did leave, it wouldn't be the ancient ruins of Rome, the La Rive Gauche en Paris or the Globe Theater in London that lured me north of the Pyrenees Mountains, It was the Balkans of Eastern Europe, and more importantly, some good friends from Macedonia that I had met while working in Colorado the summer before coming to Europe. I had been thinking of visiting them since the year before, but had never worked up the nerve to commit and click the Buy button. This year was different, though, as I closed my eyes a couple of weeks before Semana Santa and forced my hand. I would be visiting the lands of Alexander the Great, the doorstep of the cradle of ancient Western thought, the stage of centuries of struggle for territory, freedom and a sense of identity. In a world where many people argue against the idea of borders and boundaries, this slice of the earth is only now beginning to live in makeshift harmony after the ever-changing lines on the modern maps were drawn in temporary permanence. Coming from the U.S., a country that hasn't seen separatism (except for Texas) since the 19th century, this was all very fascinating to me.

Sun breaking over Skopje

the man himself: Alexander the Great

Tierras Divididas

 I came to see these guys:

Orthodox Church en Sofia, Bulgaria

And saw cool things like this...













and this...

Canyon river that leads to Europe's deepest underwater cave

    It was a great and new experience for me to exit the comfort zone that Spain had become for me. To not know any of the language and very little of the culture of the region was scary and exciting.. I was able to try new food, see new ways of life, get ripped off by new taxi drivers, learn some new things about the history of the region, to see how my friends live and know their concerns about the future as well as their hopes and fears.

homeless mussels

Just another day in La Coruña today: I had my early and best classes this morning from 9:30-1:00 with half hour breaks in between. I usually snooze about 5 times before getting up, but today I had one of those accidental shutoff moments, but luckily woke up with half an hour to spare. I biked over to school with my hands frozen to the handlebars and my head stuck to the ocean. No matter how cold it is, it's a good way to start the day. I arrived 10 minutes later with enough time to head to the school cafe to grab a cafe con leche (au lait) and some churros (spanish stick-shaped, crispy begneits). My classes on Tuesday are a bit older and much more talkative and responsive than the others, and I usually leave them more energized than I enter. I count that as a success.

(I'm giving David Bowie a try while I write this and I'm not really digging it. Ah, but Under Pressure just started.)

I left work and headed to the big cultural center that is nearby. This has become my getaway this year. It's a huge public space with high glass windows, wood beams, a theater, leisure areas and a nice library. A grabbed a layman's science book and the Woody Allen film Sweet and Lowdown, did my homework and then hussled home in the freezing rain. My lunch was a cabbage, chorizo and chickpea soup that I tested out the other day and some porkchops that needed to be cooked.

The interesting part of the day came at 8:30 when I was walking home with my bike in hand. I passed by the grocery store, Gadis, that I frequent when the stationary homeless man stopped me suddenly and handed me a bag of almejas (mussels). I was wary at first, but he was a jolly fellow and asked my name and then if I was Italian when he heard my strange accent. "No, Americano," I said. He said he was Jesus and advised me on how to cook the mussels and that they'd give me a hard dick if I did it right. He laughed and said I could visit him at the nearby Soup Kitchen whenever I wanted.
I hailed a little bit the rest of the walk home. Weird. I just cooked the mussels. They were good; I hope i don't get sick.

oh shit, it's 2013.

i'm picking this thing up again. i was disillusioned with it before, but i've seen the light and realized that there is some value to it. the problem with leaving off for so long is that I have a lot to catch up on, but I don't want to burden you guys down with too many long posts. Here goes for a summary:

Time has flown, but shit, when doesn't it now. This year has been substantially different than the last, mostly I think because I'm more settled and, well, more Spanish in some ways. It took me a couple of months to shake off my summer beach bum behavior, but now I'm working a lot more than i did last year which should be good come summer. I don't spend much time with many of the other Americans again, although I cherish the time with the select few. There are the lovely Mary and Bridget, my girls from last year with whom I do El Camino, amongst other cool things. Tacked on to the group are Jay and Monica, two great people from Calgary, Alberta, Canada. We met them in the early goings, they came on a hike with me and the outdoor club, and we've all stuck together since then. Jay's a great guy that, for me at least, is a catalytic person. I talk about a lot of things, he does a lot of things and together things blossom. We brewing beer together and take medium to long bike trips together and are even planning a 10 day trip from Paris to AmsterDaaaam-it's-gonna-be-cool! 

I've taken climbing to a new level, and my group of friends from the gym has really solidified, while simultaneously offering some great experiences one of which was road-trippin' 4 hours into central Portugal, camping under the pavilion of a church in a really small town on the edge of a valley before going to climb it's walls the next day. Epic!

Work is also a lot better than last year. I liked working with the kids, although i felt inexperienced and ineffective much of the time, but working with adults/felling more comfortable and confident is great. I teach Advanced 2, the highest level of a 6 year curriculum, at the city's official language school. I love it. I really enjoy being surrounded by people learning languages and studying, not to mention that i have access to a ton of resources and am even studying French in my free time. I still can't help but think of the French candlestick in Beauty and Beast or Peppy Le Pew when i speak it though. C'est bien!

I think this is a good length for a blogpost. I'll do my best from now on to fill in the spaces with anecdotes, recaps and even some philosophical meanderings. 

As Spanish as Canarian can Be.

Los Canarios, the people of the Canary islands, are a proud people. These small islands that belong to Spain, even though they are nestled against Africa some 1200 kilometers from the spanish peninsula, are a world apart from their patria. They seamlessly blend African, Spanish, Caribbean and now English and German cultures. They feel like tropical islands, with bright colors and palm trees everywhere, but also keep surprising landscapes hidden in their interiors. The aboriginal people, los Guanches, once lived in cave houses in the dry, mountainous heart of Gran Canaria -- and this is where I had a brilliantly authentic experience with a group of their distant descendants.

It was my first week on the island and I found myself looking out of our cave hostel into the crag-like canyon that spread out before me. Myself and Tom, another American, were on cave duty for a few days because a couple from Barcelona were staying there. We had just finished the mid-morning cleaning and decided to go for a bike ride down the mountainside to a traditional village tucked under an ominous overhang of a rock. Our first mistake, and we knew (which was worse), was leaving at 2 in the afternoon, being overconfident in our biking abilities, and carrying just enough water.

Needless to say, 2 hours later, after seeing this..., we were dying of thirst, heat and exhaustion after climbing some pretty steep ascents without much shade. We arrived to the main road, still a ways from home, and saw the same group of men sitting under some trees that we had seen while passing by earlier. Tom spoke up for salvation and asked for water. They offered us wine. We took it and then they jostled beer, cheese, chorizo, mangos and finally water into our hands. They were a group 5 hunters having a good ole' Heminway-esque time getting drunk under a tree while their dogs barked in their cages nearby. They were jolly, loud and funny. They made sure we knew that they were true-blooded islanders and showed off their knives and singing abilities. One that was the oldest, drunkest, and most toothless, sat next to me and mumbled traditional ballads into my ear. He stole my heart. They explained how they had helped re-forest this part of the island, gave us business cards to eat at one of their restaurants, and yelled at the cars that were passing by. They saved us and enriched us, and I'll forever remember them for it.

Modern Booty: Experiences

I've been away from home 33 of the last 84 months. That's almost 3 of the last 7 years. Seems more impactful when said the latter way. I started when I was just about 18 and suppose I really only stopped in between for university. I'm not sure where the instinct comes from, if it's even some kind of inborn quality, but I'll just say I fit into the category of people with an adventurous spirit. Aaargh! I'll also give some credit to my lovely parents who possess similar spirits and took us road-tripping around the Southeast when we were growing up. Everything has a beginning, and this one is right after high school graduation.
      There was something about that first taste of true independence when I was 18 that changed everything. It was the catalyst that came at the right time, as so much of life depends on circumstance and developmental experience.  It was Rehoboth Beach, Delaware (the first state) in the summer of '05 when Mario and I arrived after our typical senior trip in Cancun, Mexico, which was a time when I didn't even stop to think, "Wow, I'm in Mexico." Fresh out of high school, Mario's long lost biological father began to reconnect with his maturing son, and advised us to spend the summer working at Funland, a beach-side, family-oriented, amusement park. It was our first communal living experience, and the moldings of our future began then.
      That summer we were endlessly stimulated and enthralled. We had escaped Southern Louisiana and we were making friends from all over the world who were equally open and excited to new experiences. In the end, that's the essence of traveling I think. The underlying group consciousness, the "we're in it together and we're all loving every second of it." We shared stories from Colombia, England, Scotland, Germany, Kenya, ate together, laughed together, were embarrassed together, roamed the boardwalk together and admired each other for being so different but similar all at once. We weren't each others friends from back home. We were young, free and enchanted with life.
      Now, 7 years later, I'm in my shadowy kitchen in Northern Spain processing the circular green tile patterns on the wall in my periphery. My cup of coffee is going cold next to me, it was too weak anyways, and I'm waiting for the right time to go surf at the city beach. I'm again living next to a cold, northern, Atlantic beach. I'm still living communally by having an "open" apartment and accepting couchsurfers when I can, and by trying to assure friends that they can drop by whenever they please. I've taken immersion a step further by deciding to live in Spain for 2 straight years and realize that I'm still chasing and catching that initial experience from Delaware. That's what we travelers are, right? Experience chasers, it's why we can't stay put in the same place for too long. At least for now. There are too many open, interesting, interested, free and fun people to meet and learn from. I know it won't last forever, and don't think that I want it to, but for now let the adventure continue.