Why I'm European Now

1. I only drink coffee from a french press at home (this also falls into the subcategory of why i'm hipster).

2. I have a separate toilet in my bathroom just to wash my booty if i want (and i never will, unless toilet paper becomes a precious commodity).

3. I eat dinner now between 10 and 12 and I go out at 2 a.m. Sometimes I have trouble walking in the streets at 4 a.m. because they are so crowded (although this is more a Spanish thing).

4. I lean farther to the left.

5. I speak a foreign language when I am at home and English when I'm at work.

6. I sometimes have a beer or wine with meals during the day.

7. I travel by train.

8. I lean out of my window and hang my clothes on a line.

9. I use olive oil all day/everyday.

10. I shop and eat at privately owned places more than franchises.

Viva Mexico (and other things)

ahhh Mexico, what a beautiful, dirty tramp of a country! I realized the impact that my experience there had on me the other day when I went outside of Corunya to eat at a Mexican restaurant owned by guys from D.F. (Mexico City). My previous attempt to eat Mexican a couple of weeks ago was a complete failure. It was a restaurant near the shore, across from an Indian place (nice!), that was the equivalent of Span-Mex and severely overpriced. Mierda! Twas a disappointment quickly forgotten as I stepped foot into that heavenly establishment 2 nights ago. Mexican flags, Xmas pinyatas, lucha libre masks, and indian artwork covered the place. Irene and I sat down and the waiter approached soon to ask with his tequila-smooth mexican accent what we would like to drink.

"Time for the test," I thought. "Do you have micheladas?" I asked. 

"Of course," he said through those jalepenyo-shaped lips, "regular or a la cubana?"

Oh joyous occasion! Oh spicy-hot nectar of the gods! who knew the satisfaction that beer, tomato juice, hot sauce, salt, lime, and a dash of secret sauce could bring!? The almost unbearable sting of that blessed drink that simultaneously invokes love, hate, and heart attack brought a host of memories flooding back to me. I remembered countless different benches, restaurants, conversations and good times all lasso'd around that fiery red drink. And then we ordered food...

Simple, authentic, rich and delicious. nada mas que decir. 

 after dinner we struck up conversation with the owner,  a young guy of about 30. He's a graphic designer that has lived here for 7 years, and he opened the restaurant because the Crisis has put off most graphic design work. We talked about Mexico, business, beer, and music. It was great. He made my night when he gave me a can of jalepenyos to take home because they are all but impossible to buy on the shelf here in Spain. I'll take any suggestions on what to cook with this one hit wonder that I have in my possession...

Thus ended that unexpectedly awesome night. And now Xmas vacations are upon us. Two and a half weeks of paid vacation and relaxation. I could almost get used to this semi-professional lifestyle, although that human instinct (at least i think it is) to turn and run towards seasonal work, travel, fun and self sufficiency lacking in modern world capitalist values and practices still whispers to me in the dark. 

Less then one week and I'll be in Andalusia, the synecdoche of Spain.  

Weekend Trip (cont.)

Note to reader: I embellished just for fun on the last post. There was no chase scene, the guys in the car were policemen that were curious about me because I looked suspicious. 


I called the Australian guy at about 9, after a couple of hours of walking about the shore and the old part of the city. He was a friendly-ass guy that did ask where the shit I had been, because he was prepared to get up and let me in his house at 630. We stopped by the grocery store en route to his house, bought some cereal, and had breakfast before both crashing out for another 2 hours or so. In the afternoon we went to meet a friend of his at a cool restaurant, had some pinchos (typical bar delicacies of the region) and beer, and waited for the French folk to turn up. They arrived about 45 minutes later, and it was great to see Nathalie again after our fun couple of days together in Mexico. Her b/f  was really cool, and the whole group of them were surfers and had a really good vibe. We continued to eat and chat for the rest of the afternoon and hopped in the car to cross the border to Biarritz, France.

The Basque Country is really quite unique and beautiful. The aussie, Clint, was really almost pro-separatist and schooled me on why he thought they should just be recognized as their own country. The language, Euskera, was quite strange and not related to spanish in anyway.

France was great. Nick and Nath live in the top floor of a classic French apartment building whose shutters look over the other orange shingled roofs to the Bay of Biscay with its backdrop of the Pyrenees mountains in the distance. We went to a free concert that night in the renovated stables of an old castle and I enjoyed being surrounded by all of the Frenchies that I couldn't understand. The next day, we explored the city a bit, saw the lighthouse, had fresh oysters and white wine, and hit some golf balls on a course with a view of the setting sun behind the mountains and ocean. Totally picturesque, but I didn't bring a camera. We had a dinner party that night and had cheese and grilled meats and potatoes and wine. Bomb diggity. Then we watched IT. Interesting way to end the night. A great weekend overall, and I look forward to hopefully returning in the spring or summer to check out the surf scene.

san sebas black and white

San Sebastian

Well, I've done it. I've officially visited a place that I first imagined through the eyes of an author; I've walked the streets and pretended what it was like for him in the 1920's. Those streets were in San Sebastian, Spain, a coastal city in the Basque Country that I first learned about in Ernest Hemingway's book The Sun Also Rises. In the book, Hemingway describes the city as a charming place tucked away in the rolling green countryside of the border between Spain and France. The book also describes the meaningless pilgrimage of the protagonist and his friends as they make their way down to Pamplona for a week of revelry and disillusionment. I was thinking about these things as I stumbled off of the bus at 6:30 in the morning after 11 hours of hazy sleep and discomfort (where I also watched Black Swan, which was quite strange). Damn it was cold and dark! I proceeded to cover my mouth and nose with my scarf and put the hood up on my jacket before following the river that runs through town on its way to the ocean. I had the number of an Australian friend of my friend, Nathalie, but I didn't want to call so early in the morning. I walked along the sea, taking in what I could of the city at that time, this mostly consisted of idly observing the few drunk people still on the street. I was staring into the night-shrouded ocean when I turned around and caught 2 guys in a red car looking my way. It seemed strange to me so I continued on to find a city map. The same car passed me a few minutes later and stopped a 100 yards ahead, so I crossed the street. I was looking at the bus map when the car again pulled up beside me, this time with the windows down, and the man in the passenger street stared me straight in the eyes.

We held the gaze for an uncomfortable moment before he quickly got out of the car and came towards me. I started to back away and he grabbed for my backpack straps, but I ducked just in time and shifted behind him. I started running in the opposite direction and the red car immediately swung a U-turn and came after me. My backpack was effing heavy so I dropped it off behind a dumpster and hoped it would still be there later after all of this finally ended. I was down a side street, not knowing where the hell I was, when a Chinese man opened the backdoor of his restaurant and signaled me to enter. "Alright," I thought. It smelled like wontons and my eyes had to adjust to the neon lighting. I turned around and the Chinese man reached for my face and pulled down my scarf and hood. "You can't dress like that in this city," he said, "they'll think you are a member of ETA. I saw you get off of the bus, so I know you're a tourist." 

He asked if there was someone I could call and I thought it'd be a good time to call the Australian. He picked up quicker than I expected and asked with a heavy accent where the shit I had been. He had expected me to call around 6:45. I asked if he could meet me at the restaurant and he said he'd be there soon because it wasn't too far from his place. The chinese man gave me scrambled eggs and wontons and I waited.