Sevilla: NO8DO naranjo

This weekend I went to Sevilla to visit one Eric Simons (hi Eric!), a loyal reader of this blog and fellow auxiliar de convo. Eric moved from Fuengirola last year to an awesome school in central Sevilla, lucky indeed. Our weekend consisted of a lot of walking, a lot of eating, a lot of calling people at 3:30 a.m. (hi Jackie!), and a lot of going out. So much going out that Saturday, the day we planned to head to Jerez for a daytrip, we ended up sleeping until 2 and then began an epic search for a place that serves churros at 5 p.m. We went to a birthday party with some of his teacher friends and then out to Fun Club, a bar on the alameda that plays good music, and stayed until 7 in the morning. I felt bad about vegging out in Sevilla until Eric informed me that that was indeed the third time that a daytrip to Jerez has been shelved due to inebriation. This consoled me.

Another interesting thing that I noticed in Sevilla, and cannot believe I never really though about it until this trip, was the ever-present motto of the city, NO8DO, which they put on everything.

On the street lamp.

On the "metro"

On the sign for the puente de Triana.

 And not just in pretty places. Any public work made of iron, and man is there lots of iron work in Sevilla, has this on it.

Trash cans.

Sewer lids.

Sewer grates.

Plaques about things that happened.

The symbol is even on Christopher Columbus' tomb. I don't have a photo of that, but Wikipedia says it's true. The center character, which looks like an 8, is actually one of those balls of yarn that people knit with that has two ends. This is called a madeja in Spanish. The symbol says "Nomadejado," which is andaluz for "No me ha dejado" meaning "It (referring to Sevilla) has never left me," or "It has never abandoned me."

The story is that in 1248, after the reconquest of Sevilla from the Muslims, King Ferdinand III of Castile and León moved into the stunningly beautiful Muslim palace, the Alcázar. After his death his son, Alfonso X, came to power. By all accounts, he was cool. A scholar, linguist, astronomer, astrologer, poet, musician... Therefore, when Alfonso's son, Sancho IV of Castile, tried to usurp the throne, the people of Sevilla had Alfonso's back. "No me ha dejado," he said, and gave the city it's motto.

Another thing that is all over Sevilla are oranges.

Recién exprimido.

Everywhere.

And there is nothing better than a crystal clear, slightly chilly January weekend in Sevilla to really see how much that orange pops.

Naranjos en Barrio Santa Cruz.

I was all set to move to Sevilla this year, as many of you know, before I became hooked on Málaga (and phonics!) and decided to stay here. This weekend reminded me how beautiful and quirky Sevilla is. While I would have loved to live there, staying here was the right decision for me. I, for sure, would not abandon Málaga.

"somewhere I have never travelled" by e.e. cummings

somewhere i have never travelled; gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life, will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

The fat and the skinny

The New York Times came out today with this very interesting article.

I wish I had one of these.

Based on these findings and the daily ambient temperature of my apartment and school (frigid), I should be approaching Kate Moss measurements any day now.

The remote is broken

This afternoon after coming home and making lunch (gnocci with ranch dressing sauce, spinach and tomato salad, empanadillas filled with caramelized onion and apples, bacon, and figs. Yes please...) and sitting down to watch the news and the Simpsons, as usual, I noticed the remote control is broken. Due to the digital switch that happened last year, the remote is the only way we can change the channel. Therefore, we are stuck on Antena 3 until I either brave the cold to get batteries at the chino or, if the remote is broken, get a new one. For the moment, I've decided to capitalize on this event and make a blog entry, thus avoiding solving the problem and maintaining warm on the couch for the time being.

Currently, what is on offer on Antena 3 is Bandolera, a period piece about an English girl that arrives to Andalucía in the 19th century who quickly becomes enrolled with a handsome Spanish army officer who fights against the ominous sounding La Mano Negra and all of the lawlessness and stuff. Of course.

Now Spanish TV does not do period dramas well. In fact, they're horrific. The whole thing is like high school play that was recorded nicely and with nobody forgetting their lines. It's as painful for the audience as a 10th grade "Sound of Music." The setting has the look of cardboard painted to look "rustic" with bricks showing and barrels of alcohols and olde-tymey advertisements for things.

Amar en Tiempos Revueltos

Amar en Tiempos Revueltos, set in Madrid after the Spanish Civil War, has been stinking up the TV for years. The costuming is sub-par at best. The standard pseudo-40's look of updoes, cardigans, and suits leaves one longing for Mad Men. (Not that I've seen more than one episode of Mad Men, but everyone talks about it and the fashion and the costumes and everything. It's like Regina George from Mean Girls, everyone just knows stuff about it.)

Hispania: LA LEYENDA!!!

Another costumed atrocity is Hispania: La Leyenda. Set in Roman times, this one is about a tranquil Spanish village that gets invaded by Romans and who must fight back against those mean Italians who take their land and women and invade their lifestyle, a battle still continuing on the streets of Málaga today between the Spanish kids and the Italian boys here on Erasmus. Since it's set in Roman times, costumes are super easy. The process must have gone something like this:

1. Buy a set of dark colored bedsheets from Carrefour.
2. Cut up into togas.
3. Buy leather belts from Bershka.
4. Get some leather sandals from your hippie friend.
5. Go crazy with the gold studs and jerry curls and voilá! Ancient Rome!

Another key component of costuming in any period piece is, of course, excessive cleavage. Attracting the attention of a male audience to a show about some English chick who falls in love with a soldier in a faraway land or two people in post-war Madrid who have a child together is difficult. The easy way to keep everyone tuned in is to drop the necklines of all the female costumes.

Actress Marta Hazas as Englishwoman Sara Reeves,
looking like a pirate wench while writing in her diary.

In Hispania, it's the slutty Roman slave outfits that keep the menfolk tuned in. With reason, because the one actress in that show is stunning.

Standard Roman slave clothing, of course.

So instead of tuning in to what is essentially a long play at the community arts center put on television, tune into something worthwhile on TV. Like....ummmm....well there's....

Nope. There's nothing.

Aprovechando

In the middle of January, when one does not enjoy the luxury of having a clothes dryer, one must take full advantage of sunny days.

My closet, put in the washing machine, thrown out on my patio.

Seño, ¿se colorea?: Part two in an occasional series of observations on Spanish public schools

A rather odd fact about myself: I kind of like vacuuming. It's somehow really satisfying vacuuming the carpet in the living room and making parallel lines. It's methodical. It's calming. It's my inner obsessive compulsive. Don't get me wrong, there are a million things I'd prefer to do rather than cleaning the house, but of all the activities involved in cleaning, vacuuming is probably my favorite.

Those kinds of mundane, methodical tasks are satisfying because you can see the progress. It's not a challenge, it's not difficult, and you get instant results, just like all of those New Years weight loss commercials say. Another thing that is strikingly similar to vacuuming; creating straight lines and uniformity, instantly seeing results, is coloring. Kids will color absolutely anything they can get there hands on. In elementary school, with the abundance of coloring items, including but not limited to crayons, markers, colored pencils, oil pastels (whoever let THAT into an elementary school apparently has never tried to wash that stain out of a white shirt), paint, glitter paint, felt-tip pens, etc. etc., and the steady flow of worksheets, is the perfect storm for coloring madness!

Lucía going to town on a Christmas tree.

So everyday, in every class, whenever we have anything that is paper, the question comes up:

"¿Pero seño, se colorea?"

Every.Single.Day.

The paper could be a math worksheet, with numbers and lines, and they bust out the colored pencils and start coloring in the squares.

Starting them young.

Coloring is great, I don't have too much against it. But when you are in school, supposedly learning to read and write in Spanish and English, coloring becomes a battle field between teacher and student.

For example, today with 2nd years we are talking about the environment. We are going to learn about the water cycle and the different forms that water can take: liquid, gas, solid. I want you to label the pretty diagram with the waterfall and snow and steam with the name of that form of water in Spanish and English. Whilst writing on the board, I hear the sound...

A scraping, shuffling, clacking sound of little hands combing through the boxes of crayons that are situated on their desks like a donut shop in a fat camp, looking for a red or blue or whatever colored crayon.

Whipping around and zeroing in on the noise like predator.

"NO se colorea!!!"

The offending child lets go of the crayons and sits straight up. Silence reigns, I return to attempting to write these words neatly in cursive, which I haven't used since I was those kid's age. Faintly, a rustling is heard in the back. Not the sweet sound of pencil and eraser scratching softly on paper, but the hush of crayon laid sideways, painting in huge blocks of color on a background.

"NO SE COLOREA chicos! Estamos escribiendo las palabras en inglés! Nada de colorear! Suelta los colores!"

Silence. Pencils on paper. Making the rounds to check spelling and have them pronounce the word. Suddenly, a tiny hand begins tugging on my shirt.  

"Seño I'm finished." 

It's perfect. Spelling is correct. Accent marks over the correct letter in Spanish. Capital letters. It's begun... Soon, another hand taps me on the arm. And another. And another. They tug on my shirt. They grab my wrist. They step in front of me. They grab my leg. They're closing in from all sides!

"Seño what do we do now?"

It's the early finishers! The kids who pay attention the first time I explain things and have the skill to write more than one letter at a time without double checking it on the blackboard. Quickly getting bored, they get up to talk with their friend on the other side of the room. With 7 minutes left before the bell there is no time to begin a new activity and half the class has not finished. The talking distracts them. They start talking. Things are spinning out of control. It's getting louder. And louder. And LOUDER...

"Chicos! Si hayais terminado, COLORÉALO!!!"

Color it.

The kids run back to their seats and start scrambling for crayons. They outline, they shade, they dot, they add stars and flowers to the pictoral water cycle scene. Absolute silence in the class. The kids who were dawdling while writing the words somehow magically find the focus to get them finished, eager to get on to coloring. The bell rings, everyone has the words copied, everyone is sitting, everyone is smiling.

Coloring: a teacher's best friend and worst enemy.

A love poem for Tucson

The smell of the desert during the monsoon season. Awaking every day to sunshine. A flamenco studio where you sweat bullets before class even starts. A cactus garden in the middle of the University. Day of the Dead parade where the streets are shut down, everyone dresses up as the dead, and spend the night dancing to Brazilian drum bands and watching acrobats dance around a cauldron of fire. Driving 20 minutes out of the city and not seeing a single human being in sight. Taco trucks. Bike riding down West University Boulevard.

Tucson, Arizona is a wonderful city. A holdout in the desert of college students, snow birds, and lots of cacti, the city has a character and a vibe that I have rarely seen. I did my undergrad at the University of Arizona and had the chance to spend four years in the Old Pueblo.

I love that city.

I hate what happened to it.

Last weekend, a 22-year-old man approached Congresswoman Gabby Giffords and shot her point blank in the head. He then moved down the line of people waiting to speak with her and killed 6 people, including a 9-year-old girl. He was tackled only when he was reloading and the spring malfunctioned.

Now Tucson is making international headlines, for all the wrong reasons.

Again, Jon Stewart hit the nail on the head on The Daily Show. His segment articulated well what a lot of people are thinking. That you cannot blame what happened on heated political discourse or a toxic climate in American politics. That there are events that cannot be controlled or explained.

http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/mon-january-10-2011/arizona-shootings-reaction

It's normal to look for a cause or a reason behind things such as this, but almost always it's more complex. A few things might be drawn out though.

For example, the gun laws in Arizona were a clear failure on behalf of the state to protect its citizens. Arizona has some of the most lenient gun laws in the nation, allowing someone to legally purchase a semi-automatic gun even when they had been expelled from community college due to mental health issues. A second amendment right to bear arms was approved when these types of weapons didn't exists. Following to the letter this type of document is like following 18th-century medical advice; the fundamentals are there, but things need to be up to date.

Second, Jared Laughtner, the shooter, did not seem to receive any kind of mental health support. Perhaps when he was removed from community college and not allowed to return without consulting a mental health professional, the state should have stepped in with those services. Yes, you cannot require that people get mental health care, but the dismal state of the Arizona health system and the absolute gutting of the state budget in recent years could have played a hand in Saturday's events. Social service programs have been slashed, and the effects could become obvious soon.

What most hit me about what was on Stewart's clip and in the news were the stories behind the people who were there to see Giffords. A man standing in line who had come to talk to Giffords about his army assignment and to commend her for winning the difficult election. A judge stopping for a chat on the court system. A retired woman who was a staunch Republican but wanted to chat with Giffords about her ideas anyway. A businesswoman thanking Giffords for her legislature that gave her business a tax cut for installing appliances and allowed her to expand. Perhaps most sadly but most hopefully, the 9-year-old waiting to meet her who had been elected to student council and was interested in seeing how politics worked.

Giffords herself is a fantastic Congresswoman and I'm proud that her and Raul Grijalva are representing Southern Arizona. Giffords, whose meetings and speeches I reported on for the different papers I worked for at University, is intelligent and very amiable. She has good ideas on immigration, on science, on energy policy. She is as congresspeople should be: available to their constituents, willing to listen, willing to make the tough decisions. I'd vote for her 100 times over again and hope she is recovering well.

Tucson mourning.

The most hopeful thing is seeing the photos and hearing the updates about the memorial service to be held today. President Obama will be attending, and news reports state that the McKale Center will be filled to capacity, with the overflow being held in the stadium.

I love you Tucson, I hope you heal soon.

Pass the ashtray: smoking ban takes effect

The obvious day to celebrate would be the 1st of January. But in 2011, the 2nd of January might be a better choice. The 2nd is the glorious day which the smoking ban takes effect in Spain. The law prohibits smoking in enclosed public spaces. A 2006 law that restricted smoking was voluntary, mostly ineffective, and entirely stupid. This new law is one of the strictest in Europe.

I don't know yet how the public is reacting to the ban; smoking is ubiquitous in bars and restaurants. (Bonus points for using a semicolon correctly, I think. Yay journalism degree!) This is the scene I have in my head that could be playing out as we speak:

Greece upped the ante for protests. Bring it, France.
Retirement age, schmishmirement age. I want burning cars.

But instead of a young man in a black hoodie it's several old men with woolen hats and newspapers and instead of riot police it's a group of very attractive (more on the mind-boggling good looks of Spanish civil servants in a later entry...) police officers in groups of two.

But most likely, life continues as normal, but instead of talking about the freakish rain in the old man bars, they will grumble about not being able to smoke for a year or two until it becomes normal.

To me, the idea of not having a smoking ban until 2011 is crazy. Smoking, especially indoors, seems antiquated, it's so 80's to light up in a bar or a restaurant. With people smoking all over everywhere all the time, you have to be strategic about avoiding it. Over the past year or so, a couple of friends and I have developed a set of procedures to limit the smoke getting all up in your business. This set of behaviors will attempt to keep you away from the gross second hand smoke smell, but that shit is everywhere, like the clap.


1. Going out for cañas the second night in a row? Wearing the same thing I wore last time because it already smells like smoke.
If you're going out with the same group of people, make sure they don't think you're a bum before repeating your clothes. Most people, at least ones who I hang out with, are okay with it and may even tip their hat to you for your cleverness in the face of certain smelliness.

This bar is called Burbujas, and specializes in drinks that make you ridiculous.

2. Sun dry.
This one requires both cooperative weather and being fairly lucid upon arrival home. Sun has a great ability to zap second hand smoke smell out of clothing. When you get home, hang your clothes out where the sun will hit them in the morning and by the time you awaken in the late afternoon, your clothes are good as new. Bonus: you can call yourself eco-friendly!

3. Go to Livraria.
In the past month, a shimmering oasis of clean air has opened up on Avenida Carlos Haya. Livraria, a new bar that has a nice caña-to-cost ratio, pool table, and good lighting, doesn't allow smoking. It's pretty gentrified, but definitely worth the slight haul out of the neighborhood for a beer.

4. Midnight laundry bandit
This technique, which I have only once successfully pulled off, is for advanced non-smokers. Upon arrival from a smoky bar, change into your pajamas and immediately put your clothes in the washing machine. It helps to have the other laundry you were going to put in already ready to go, then just throw in your clothes and turn it on. When you wake up in the morning, hang it out to dry and no evidence remains of your goings-on the night before.

This photo is a substitute for the photo I actually 
wanted to put up. You're welcome, Lindsay.

5. Sit outside and bitch
This technique works when you are hanging out with big groups of foreigners. As Malaga permits patio seating a good portion of the year, you can wait for a table outside in the sunshine at the restaurant and then sit and bitch about smoking. Bonus points for annoyingly waving your hand in front of your face when people light up. Not applicable in discotecas and winter months.

6. Never eat churros
Most of these strategies will cover you for going out at night, but one must always be vigilant. In the daylight hours, churros y chocolate bars are by far the smokiest. You may be lured by delicious, artery-clogging fried dough and a big cup of chocolate to dip it in, be prepared to stank when you come out. The churro bars almost always double as old man bars, and that means chain smoking in the morning.

While these pointers are effective for clothing, the smoke will still get into your hair and purse. But now with the smoking ban, that should be no issue! This smoking ban will hopefully give many people an extra push to quit smoking. It will help protect those in the service industry from the harmful effects of smoke in the workplace. It reinforces the message that tobacco is addictive. It's good for the children. It's good for teenagers. It's good for old man bars and superpija discotecas. It's good for families. It's a positive step for the health of the nation.

My personal health and finances, however, will soon be deteriorating. Rapidly. Because hey! There's no annoying cigarette smoke! Let's go out! Salud, smoking ban. To an unhealthier 2011.