St. Stephen's Day: that's right, another Christmas holiday

Another day without much of anything open. However, we called a few museums and found out that the Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona would indeed be open in the morning. Although Heather and I doubted the art status of many of the exhibits, a few pieces were good, and we ran into another SYA girl and her family to laugh over the ludicrous “art” with.

Heather’s parents had gone to see Barcelona’s oldest church, and we met back up on La Rambla. Heather’s mother had found a few Gaudí houses nearby, but before walking over, they mentioned that wandering around near the church they’d found the Arabic quarter, including some great-looking bakeries. Seeing as we all loved Arabic desserts, we walked back over and bought a few. I had a delicious little square of shredded phyllo dough, pistachios, and chocolate, and another diamond of phyllo dough and cashews.

The Gaudí houses were located on what came to be known as “La Manzana de Discordia”, the block of discord. However, it is also a pun on the Spanish word “manzana”, which means “apple” as well as “city block”, giving the name a double meaning due to the Greek myth of the judgement of Paris and the apple of discord.

However, rather than leading to the Trojan War, Gaudí’s houses are more likely to lead to the exhaustion of camera batteries. I haven’t ever seen buildings like his!

One block over is the “Casa de Pedrera”, another Gaudí building, inspired by the sea.

We decided to wind our way back to the center, killing time until our dinner reservation. George had made it for us at another recommended restaurant, this one serving typical Catalonian fare. Since one of Heather’s and my friend was in Barcelona with his family, we decided to invite the six of them, augmenting our reservation to a table for 10. The restaurant had no problem, since our reservation was at 8, rather early by Spanish standards. However, it was only about 5:30, so we had a multitude of time to pass.

We spied a church with its doors open, a nice-looking refuge from the drizzly outdoors.

What luck that we had stumbled upon such a lovely building!

We also found the “Palau”, Barcelona’s main concert hall. The exterior was incredibly gorgeous, and the lobby was lovely as well – perhaps I’ll try to go see something when I go back to Barcelona.

Walking down windy streets and taking gut-instinct turns to lead us back to La Rambla, I had the idea to go to Les Cuatre Gats, the café frequented by Picasso and other “bohemian” artists in the early 20^th century. As we pulled out the guide book to see if the café was listed, we looked to our right and there it was! We were quite literally standing on its doorstep. Very excited, we decided to go in for a pre-dinner coffee.

The name of the café means “The Four Cats”, playing on a Spanish idiom. If you were to ask me about a concert I played in and I said that there were four cats there, it means that no one showed up or that hardly anyone came.

We arrived to the restaurant right on time and just before the Bowens. Unable to pass up what I knew would be a great dish, I ordered espinacas a la catalana again, and decided to be brave and try the traditional calçots, spring onions roasted on coals and eaten with a cream sauce. They were served in a long wooden platter, and the waitress demonstrated how to eat them: firmly hold the bottom, pull the tender center out of the charred outside, dip into the sauce, and try to eat the spring onion without causing too much of a mess. A fun and very Catalonian dinner!

We headed to a bar to continue our conversation after dinner, and once again didn’t arrive home until after midnight. Our last night in Barcelona didn’t start until our last day!

Christmas Day: Gargoyles and Parc Güell

As soon as I woke up and showered, I headed to the kitchen to check on my pancake batter. It looked great; I stirred in the remaining two eggs and salt and found a cast-iron skillet. Due to our lack of maple syrup but an abundance of bananas, I put some bananas in a saucepan with cinnamon to make a bit of a fruit topping for the pancakes. I think everyone liked them – at least I did, and there weren’t any left over!
Flipping through George’s “BarcelonaWalks” book, we decided to head back to La Rambla and the Gothic Quarter, first to see if anything was open, and if not, to explore the area in daylight.
Walking through the Barrio Gótico, we came across the Cathedral of Barcelona.

The mascots of the Cathedral de Barcelona.
The courtyard had a nativity scene, a pond, and geese – just make sure you are appropriately dressed!

No sleeveless shirts! No hats! No short skirts!
We walked around the perimeter of the cathedral, discovering little bridges, elaborate carvings, and oodles of gargoyles!

The carvings on the overhangs, the ironwork on the bridge...everything so intricate and beautiful!

St. George killing the dragon

Definitely the creepiest unicorn I have ever seen. Ever.

Probably the most anatomicaly incorrect elephant I've ever seen...as well as the creepiest.
Heading back to La Rambla, we stopped to grab a bite to eat in a small bakery. Spinach seems to be a mainstay in Catalonian cuisine, so I had to get the tortilla de espinacas sandwich.
Our next stop was the Parque Güell, a park designed by Gaudí on the outskirts of Barcelona. The park is famous for its bench, undoubtedly Gaudí – a winding structure decorated with shards of ceramic and tile. However, the other aspects of the park are just as unique and wonderful: the entrance gate, the two buildings next to it, a lizard sculpture, a column-filled porch…
(photos to come, I promise!)
With a couple of hours of daylight left, we decided to go down to the beach. Although the rain from the day before had stopped, it certainly wasn’t swimming weather; but we enjoyed the sand sculptures, sound of the waves, and Gehry’s fish.
Back at the apartment, we added noodles to the carrot and cheddar soup we’d bought, and finished up the leftovers from our lunch the day before, with Christmas cookies for dessert. Since neither Heather and I had ever seen Casablanca, we decided to watch it after dinner.
My first Christmas away from home, but it couldn’t have gone any better. I love Heather and her parents, we ate wonderful food, and although I didn’t get to hunt for a stocking with my genius sister, exploring Gaudí’s park and seeing a creepy unicorn gargoyle were pretty fun in their own rights, if not typical Christmas fare.

Christmas Eve: Encantada de la Vida

The view from the organist's balcony.

The ceiling of the cathedral.

A "merry Christmas" message - and the typical noodles - projected onto an Ayuntament building.

That Spanish expression, which literally means “enchanted of life” or “charmed by life”, is pretty much the only way to describe my emotion upon entering George’s apartment. Heather’s parents had managed to end up staying there due to a correspondence started through Mr. Morse and ending in his friend’s offer of his apartment. The author of Fodor’s Spain and Barcelona titles, he had left us a stack of travel guides (the majority written by him or his wife), a hand-drawn map of the neighborhood, and various notes and tips about the ins and outs of the apartment. The house was incredible: the rooms all decorated with lovely wooden furniture, bookcases and shelves filled with books and movies in Spanish, English, and Catalan, and charming aspects that kept popping up as time went by. Our first mission was to stock up on some foodstuffs, so I went for bread while Heather and her parents found the vegetable shop and the deli. We also bought some Catalonian noodles, shaped like short macaroni with one end closed. The larger sizes are stuffed, but all sizes are popular.
George had marked a place that sold prepared food, so we decided to check it out for lunch. We ordered some delicious “espinacas a la catalana” – spinach with pine nuts and raisins, “paella de verduras” – in this case, rice with caramelized onions and artichokes, and pesto tortellini.
Tired from travel, we decided to rest a bit after our epic meal – a perfect opportunity for me to make the batter for the sourdough pancake recipe I’d found, which needed an hour’s rest and then another rest overnight.
George (or Mr. Barcelona, as I took to calling him) had made us dinner reservations at a recommended restaurant, Sagardi, renowned for its Basque food and atmosphere. Seeing as all the food in the País Vasco had been so great, Heather and I were excited. We left with plenty of time to find the restaurant so that we could walk down La Rambla and through the Barrio Gótico on the way. The restaurant was located in the heart of the Gothic Quarter, and about 50 yards from the church where we’d be going to a concert/midnight mass afterwards – another of George’s recommendations.
Since it was Christmas Eve, which is probably a bigger holiday than Christmas here in Spain, just about everything was closed – but the lights and buildings on our walk were gorgeous.
For our dinner, I ordered “alubias de Tolosa”, dark kidney beans prepared in the northern Basque style. Absolutely delicious!
After such a wonderful dining experience, we walked over to the church, or cathedral, as I should say: it was the famous Santa Maria del Mar. Since George was good friends with the organist (who happened to be from Texas), he had arranged for us to sit in the organist’s balcony with him. !!!!!!!!!!!! However, when the church came into view, the line to get in was winding around the block. Since we were supposed to meet the organist early, we decided to check for other doors. We found one in the back, and Heather knocked. The woman who opened the door was about to turn us away, but Heather convinced her that we actually were supposed to meet the organist and we were admitted.
What an incredible cathedral!
The programs were in Catalan, but between our Spanish skills and Heather’s family’s Italian, we could understand all of it. The program opened with an homage of sorts to birds, with a traditional Catalonian Christmas carol, an organ song imitating a cuckoo, a Vivaldi piece, and another by William Williams. The next piece was the “Cant de la Sibilla” – song of the Sybil.
The Sybil was a traditional Catalonian Christmas character, similar to an oracle, who would warn people of their duties and threaten them should they stray off the good path. However, the Church didn’t approve of the Sybil, and prohibited its representation in churches. Now the Sybil has been reclaimed and is an absolutely beautiful song of bagpipes, drums, a chorus, and a female soloist – the Sybil.
After the Cant de la Sibilla, the organ burst out with “Joy to the World”, or “Joia en el món” in Catalan.
The mass flew by with all the music, and since we were up in the balcony we didn’t exactly have to maintain perfect silence. I learned that the organ was built around 1710 to 1730, and later moved to its current place in the Santa Maria del Mar. It was one of the few organs to survive the Spanish Civil War, and since it was constructed in Spain in the 18th century, it is tuned to a different key than most and only sounds really good playing Spanish 18th century music.The service ended around 1:30, and since the metro had closed, we had to take a taxi back to our apartment. Once again, the days bled together, and it was Christmas Eve and Christmas at the same time…however, although we had just been to a Christmas Eve mass and listened to organ Christmas carols, since it was actually a “missa de mitja nit” and “nadala popular”, it didn’t really feel like either.

Back in Zaragoza

Barcelona was absolutely incredible.
More later!

Navidad Comings and Goings

A quick update on my plans for Christmas...
Since the actual Christmas day isn't a very big deal here, I'm going to spend it in Barcelona with a friend and her parents. Exciting!!
I'll be back in Zaragoza for New Years, and then off again to Valencia with a friend. More excitement!!
Now off to eat some more turrón and meet some more parents - today is the school's open house day!

Feliz Navidad!

During a Sunday walk on a crisp fall day.
The Stone Bridge (Puente de Piedra) over the Río
Ebro and the Basilica del Pilar are in the background.

• 1.325 m3 de soil
• 800 m2 of soil for plants
  
• 300 m2 of lawn
  
• 10m3 river rock to decorate
  
• 500 m2 of flat stone for walkways and floors of scenery
  
• 8 m3 of gravel for the stream
  
• 30 m3 of sand
  
• 150 m2 of water

What does it all add up to? Well, throw in a few lifesize statues and model buildings and you have Zaragoza's Belén (Nativity scene). Located right in front of the Basilica del Pilar, in the main plaza of the city, is a walk-through recreation of Bethlehem.
For some background, the Belén (which is "Bethlehem" in Spanish) has a few tents with common people eating, selling their wares, or working their fields.
After passing a water wheel and a little pond, one comes across the angel Gabriel telling a shocked Mary of her immaculate pregnancy.
And after the three Reyes Magos (kings) on camels carried gifts to the newborn child, we come to the humble manger, site of the birth of Jesus, complete with farm animals, Mary again, and the "father" Joseph.
Here we have a band that was wandering around playing some lovely festive music. Behind them is a craft-fair type market set up in the other half of the plaza.

This is how the city celebrates Christmas. When I think about the controversy sparked by a small nativity scene on a town hall lawn in the US, I can't imagine that Zaragoza has spent a montón of money on a 2,400 square meter belén. Insanity - but lots of fun for the children.

Tapas Zaragozanas

The moment I took the first bite of a delicious tapa in the País Vasco, I stopped missing home and began loving Spain. It was also the ambiance: a crowded bilingual café - or better said, bar - with a great friend on independent travel, tucked into a narrow European street with Christmas lights hung above our heads.
So when I began to realize that on my very own street here in Zaragoza one could find a grand variety of tapas, and that even more awaited us in El Tubo, the major tapas section of Zaragoza, just a few minutes walk in the other direction, I had to invite some friends to go tapa-ing with me last Saturday night.
Our first stop was "El Fuelle", a couple blocks down my street, where the star tapas are more like little meals: migas con uvas, literally "crumbs with grapes" but actually stir-friend bread with paprika that is incredibly delicious, and patatas asadas, or baked potatoes, which are served with a delicious sauce that was surprisingly spicy. After searching for bursting-with-flavorful food here in Spain, I was worried I'd have to content myself with the ethnic restaurants in Madrid and Barcelona; but this salsa picante was just as spicy as any Indian restaurant in Madrid, and authentically Spanish as well!! I even had to buy a mosto - grape juice - to wash it down.
Next we wandered to a Basque pintxos bar on Calle Don Jaime. I chose a cute tomato-shaped pepper stuffed with cream cheese and sitting atop a slice of baguette - absolutely delightful!! The tapas here were inexpensive and various, and true to the name, just like the ones we'd seen in San Sebastian.
My host mother had also recommended a place in the Plaza de Santa Cruz, so we headed there next. We tried not to let the fried pig snout scare us, and it's a good thing we didn't run away, because my sauteed mushrooms with roquefort were wonderful (and vegetarian)! The bar displayed a few rounds of cheese with a sign boasting that it was "perhaps the second-best cheese in the world".
Our next and final stop was the Cervecería Mayor, a few yards from my door. There we sampled a delicious pizza-like flatbread topped with roasted vegetables, goat cheese, and rosemary - to die for!!
Seeing as we were so close to my apartment, I invited everyone up (with prior collaboration with my host mother, of course) to finish the panettone which a friend of my host mother's had given us the other night. He had also taught me how to prepare it in the authentically Italian tradition (which he learned while working in an Italian restaurant in London for a year), so before long the kitchen was warmed up and smelling of cinnamon and cloves and the dash of whisky which adds the winning touch to the spiced milk poured over the round of panettone. A delicious end to a wonderfully fun evening!

Exam Week! or...Gingerbread!

Exam week in Zaragoza - which should mean studying, but instead means multitudes of productive procrastination! For example, on Tuesday, due to a strange review schedule, I only had one class. My Spanish exam was the following day. Rather than go home and "hincar los codos" (hit the elbows, or "study"), Cynthia and I went to the travel agency around to corner to book some bus tickets to Valencia, where we are going from January 2nd to the 5th. After filling out all the forms for independent travel and emailing them to my parents, I headed home to make gingerbread and cream wafer dough.

Of course I had to stop to purchase some ingredients at the grocery store a few minutes from my house: flour, sugar, butter, and chocolate. I also stopped at the specialty foods store only a little out of the way to buy molasses. A bottle which contains barely enough for half a batch of gingerbread is a ridiculous 5,50 euros, but having gingerbread for Christmas (and introducing it to my host mother, her parents, and her friends) is totally worth it.

After the cookie doughs were plastic-wrapped and in the refrigerator, I decided to spend the repose time to prepare lunch. Cynthia would arrive at 2, and I began chopping onions, peppers, and garlic for pasta sauce. My host mother randomly has a bag of TVP, so I learned how to use it and created a great tomato-based sauce. Since we didn't have any pasta open, I put some rice on to boil. Generous doses of oregano, basil, and parsley and the meal was complete!

After eating, we took out the cream wafer dough and my host mother's rolling pin and began with much enthusiasm, myself inspired by happy memories of my grandmother's cream wafers and Cynthia going on faith. We used bottle caps to cut the tiny circles, and set up an assembly line: one of us cut, the other dipped in sugar and placed on my improvised cookie tray. Since my host mother has only one tray, which is actually an old metal oven rack, I covered the other rack, which is a wire one, with aluminum foil to create a flat and solid surface.

We ended up with a huge backed-up pile of little sugared disks, but luckily the cream wafers only bake for a few minutes. Although we were exhausted from cutting out what seemed like millions of tiny cream circles, we pulled out the gingerbread dough and a heart cookie cutter and began again.

The gingerbread came out wonderfully and filled the house with a wonderful nostalgic smell. I mixed up a bit of powdered sugar and water and we went to decorating. Since Cynthia is a great artist, we ended up with some rather creative and beautiful cookies.

Still evading my Spanish workbook, I packed up my laptop and headed to the fair-trade café a couple minutes away from my house, to skype with my parents and drink a hot cup of chai.

To further avoid studying, I packed and wrapped about ten little packages of cookies as Christmas gifts.

However, I'd reached the end of my list of tasks to productively procrastinate, and pulled out the list of colloquial phrases we needed to know, and finally began to work.

Bilbao, Day 5

The Matter of Time, a huge sculpture by Richard Serra. Since his sculpture is on such a grand scale, in an interview he was asked if he'd ever considered architecture as a career. "No," he replied, "I prefer not to have to think about plumbing."


First, a sampling of my some of my favorite works in the Guggenheim…

Vaca Amarilla, by Franz Marc

Jac Lernier had a room dedicated to his found-object artwork - although I must admit, I liked Tara Donavan's exhibit at the ICA in Boston much more.

The second floor was filled with an exhibition of sketches, photographs, and models by Frank Lloyd Wright, who designed the New York Guggenheim.

El Hombre de Napoles by Jean-Michel Basquiat

24 Cabezas, by Antonio Saura

On Tuesday morning, we woke up to sun streaming in through the window, a continuation of the exceptional luck we had with weather. The País Vasco is famous for its rainy days and general grayness, but we had sun every day, and only a few sprinkles.

While basking in the sun in a plaza near the center, a pastelería caught our eye, and in particular, a crepe gathered around chocolate mousse and drizzled with dark chocolate for me. Walking past the old ornate buildings and the shiny new ones, with the sunshine on our faces, it was a spectacular end to an incredible trip!

Back in Zaragoza, the weather is far from sunny: right now it is snowing outside! However, it is the big, fat, heavy snowflakes that melt as soon as they hit the ground, so I don't think we'll be making snow forts any time soon.

Bilbao, Day 4

As we brushed our teeth in the albergue bathroom designated by a bat with miniscule wings and equilaterally-triangular fangs, we assigned ourselves missions: for me, a black sweater, and for Heather, a black oxford. The center of Bilbao – walk to the Guggenheim and take a right – is filled with shops. After browsing a few others, Heather found the perfect shirt in H&M, and while there we were of course distracted by the jewelry. A lovely necklace called my name, and the fact that it would go wonderfully with a black sweater only increased the urgency of my task. Luckily, a great 10 euro sweater welcomed me in Zara.

The main Plaza in Bilbao's modern section has great gardens and gorgeous buildings...

In Bilbao, we also discovered probably the best store that Spain has given to the world: Kukuxumusu, a funky little shop whose name means “Kiss of the Flea” in Basque. I couldn’t resist a few postcards.

As shopping always works up a bit of an appetite, Heather and I headed for a vegetarian place I’d heard about. However, it turned out to be a buffet, and the Chinese/Thai restaurant next door called our attention. “Old Shanghai” had surprisingly authentic Asian food at a good price too, and we were extremely happy to break out of the Spanish sameness for a meal.

We headed back to the hostel for a siesta and some chocolate, also hoping to run into our new friends again. Somehow the rest of the afternoon slipped away and we found ourselves at the hour for tapas again.

My first tapa this night was a slice of baguette – the ever-useful base – along with thin, almost transparent, slices of apple, thick slices of cheese, and a bit of tart jam sandwiched throughout. It was truly a work of art, and, needless to say, delicious as well. The food of the Basque country was thoroughly Spanish, but of a completely different sort: flavorful, playful, exciting. I must admit that I haven’t yet explored “El Tubo”, the tapa bar rich section of Zaragoza, although my host mother did bring me to one restaurant which served a single tapa: a stack of mushrooms grilled in olive oil and lemon juice, of course atop a slice of baguette.

The fruit and cheese tower was followed up with a piece of baguette topped with a scoop of diced tomato salsa y caramelized peppers – colorful and refreshing. At our third stop, I chose the only vegetarian option – a long toothpick spearing grilled mushrooms with ample garlic. The skewer was good, but the next one was great: a goat cheese croquette, which is a deep-friend ball of pureed potatoes for body and goat cheese. Since most croquettes tend to have the ever-present ham in them, I was incredibly excited to find a vegetarian one, and its taste lived up to my high expectations.

I loved the way that a centuries-old church and a glass-paneled office building were right next to each other.

Of course, now that we had discovered the churro place, we absolutely had to return for a dessert.

Checking our watches to make sure it was an acceptable hour – that is, that it wasn’t too early! – we directed our course towards the albergue, walking back along the river which winds its way through Bilbao and, since the construction of the Guggenheim, is lined with an attractive sidewalk and ample street musicians.

Once again, we all stayed up talking until well past midnight. In a late-night whim, the Dutch hostel-keeper, the British guy, Heather, and I decided to walk to the Guggenheim, since it is so beautiful at night. We ended up going to bed after 3 a.m…but since our bus didn’t leave until afternoon the next day, we could afford to sleep in a bit.

Bilbao, Day 3

Our bus to Bilbao left at 11:15, so between showers, talking with our roommates and the people we’d met the night before around the breakfast table, and buying some fruit and a pastry to augment the albergue’s morning offerings, we didn’t have too much extra time to get to the station. Our roommates were also headed to Bilbao, and happened to even be on the same bus, so we didn’t have to find our way back to the station alone.

The first segment of the trip wound through a few small towns, keeping to the coastline, which led to incredible views but also slight carsickness from the winding track. In one small town, the bus came to a stop, and didn’t start moving again. Looking out the windows as best we could, we saw a sea of runners in the street in front of us. We had come across a couple’s marathon, which besides being an amusing idea of a romantic activity was also set up on a loop. As the last stragglers passed in front of the bus, the leaders of the race rounded the corner. Taking his only opportunity and probably aggravating a few of the volunteers waving fluorescent flags to control traffic, the bus driver sped forward, and we barely got out of the way in time for the fastest couple to run past the back window and lap the pair bringing up the rear.

Our albergue was one metro stop away from the bus station, in a rather industrial and frankly ugly part of Bilbao. Nervous about our two nights in this gray city, we were much relived to find the albergue a quirky lively place, recently opened in July. The rooms and bathrooms were clean and comfortable, and the kitchen was a bit more user-friendly than that in San Sebastian, along with being equipped with bottomless tea and coffee. Rather than numbers, the hostel rooms were identified by funny little drawings framed on their doors which corresponded to pictures on the keys. Our first night was spent in the 8-bed goat room, and the next day we moved to the 6-bed frog room. The goat had enormous eyes and spindly curling horns and the frog was a balloon with huge eyes and itty-bitty legs. We laughed that we were thankful we didn’t get the scull-with-worms-coming-out-of-its-eyes room. Confused but amused by the strange décor, which also included pleasant witches and Halloween-like cats, I later learned in art class looking at a Goya painting which shared the name of the hostel, “Akelarre”, that akelarre means “gathering of witches” in Basque. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud in class as it all made sense.

After sliding our things under my bottom bunk and getting advice about where to eat lunch, we headed off to the old part of the city to explore. Right across the river we spotted an appetizing café, “Cafeve”, where I had the most delicious tortilla de patata sandwich I’ve had yet in Spain – a fresh hot tortilla with caramelized red peppers between a toasted baguette. (Although no tortilla could ever be as good as my host mother’s, of course.) We then found our way to the Guggenheim.

The Guggenheim is, in a word, unbelievable. Although its architecture is incredibly modern and sleek, it manages to fit right in to the fabric of the industrial city. The smooth titanium tiles go surprisingly well with the glass and concrete office and industrial buildings as well as the 19^th century university buildings across the river and the old churches nestled between large stores.

The collection of works inside the building keeps in line with its impressive exterior.

On the second floor was a great exhibition of Frank Lloyd Wright’s architecture. A three-story “sculpture” by Jenny Holzer ribbons its way through the open interior. I think the photographs will describe it better than my words.

Our hunger reawakened, we headed back to the Old Neighborhood to test out the tapas. My first selection was a cute little slice of cheese, which I think was brie, atop a slice of baguette and topped with half a walnut. Heather’s deep-fried stuffed pepper looked incredibly good as well. We then passed a churro stand and couldn’t resist the novelties it offered. I asked for a churro filled with chocolate mousse and covered with chocolate sprinkles, which we planned to share. Heather took one bite and said, “We’re getting another one.” Instead of more of the same, I opted for a chocolate-covered churro. Incredibly delicious! Looking to warm up a bit, we popped into a café, where I tried a toothpick spearing an assortment of pickled vegetables while Heather enjoyed a café con leche.

We took the metro back to our albergue, where we met the people we’d be sharing a room with that night. Three German girls, who weren’t in our room, and a British man from Oxford and an American guy from South Dakota who was studying abroad in Oxford for the year (the two hadn’t met until that day), were sitting around a table drinking tea, and we joined them. The Dutch guy who co-ran the albergue told us we had to move outside so he could sweep at 11:30, and when he finished cleaning he joined us in the doorstep where we talked until a bit past one a.m. The end of our first day in Bilbao…and we had already started the second.

San Sebastian or Donostia?

The País Vasco is a part of Spain with a rich and unique history, which has given birth to a distinct politic today. The first inhabitants of what is now the País Vasco (Basque Country) were the Celtíberos. The Romans then proceeded to conquer the Iberian Peninsula, but their main settlements were on the Mediterranean and bordering the rivers which flowed into it – Zaragoza, for example. The Visigoths then invaded from the north, and these would be the first to erect permanent settlements in the País Vasco. When the Moors invaded from Northern Africa, they conquered all of Spain except the northern coast, leaving Basque Country in Christian hands. During the Reconquista (is Reconquest a word in English?), the País Vasco was part of various kingdoms: that of Asturias, then Castilla, which then changed into Leon; then Navarra took possession, only to lose the territory to Castilla once again. Regardless, the País Vasco remained rather isolated and removed from the Christian crusades, with its own language (Vasco, or Basque, or, in its own name, Euskara). When the Catholic Kings Fernando and Isabel loosely united the entire peninsula (minus Portugal), the País Vasco became part of Castilla. The Basque language also extends into parts of south-western France, drawing Spain’s northern neighbor into a lot of modern-today political conflicts as well.

Now, the País Vasco is a Spanish autonomous community divided into three provinces (San Sebastian and Bilbao are the respective capitals of two of them). It is the site of perhaps the most intense industrial development in Spain, although its beauty still shines through. Bilbao’s history has been divided into “pre-Guggenheim” and “post-Guggenheim”, as the uber-famous museum injected lots of “clean-up-the-city” money into the municipality. However, the different language and different culture have led some to call for independence. The most widely known independence group is ETA (Euskadi ta Askatasuna), a militant (technically classified as terrorist) group that utilizes car bombs and politics to fight for Basque independence. A new Spanish movie, “Celda 211”, which my political science class went to see, demonstrates well a few unforeseen problems involved with ETA (I don’t know if there is a subtitled version out somewhere in the US, but if there is, I recommend that you see the film – the literal translation of the title is “Cell 211”). My host mother’s friend warned me in jest that I should make sure not to enter any ETA bars by mistake – but the risk provoked by having a violent separatist group functioning within its borders is an everyday reality for Spain.

A bilingual street sign in Bilbao.

Hence, the city I visited has two names. The Castilian name is “San Sebastian”. The Euskara name is “Donostia”. The País Vasco also has a Basque name: Euskadi. “The locals appreciate it when you try to speak their language,” mentioned the hostel employee who led us to our rooms, so we acquired the habit of saying “Agur” (goodbye in Basque) instead of “Adiós” when leaving stores or cafés. However, even after a few days in the País Vasco, the extent of our Basque knowledge is “agur” and “kukuxumusu”, the name of a very chulo store which means “the kiss of the flea”.

Right now, Aragón’s government is debating a new language law, which would formally recognize the fact that a few towns in eastern Aragón speak Catalán. It has provoked a petition signature drive today in the Plaza de España called “Aragón doesn’t speak Catalán” and a radio commercial in which an innocent tourist asks directions to the Plaza del Pilar and receives an answer not in Castilian but in Catalán.

Spain is a small country, but it boasts four languages spoken officially within its borders: Castilian (Spanish), Catalán, Basque, and Gallego (spoken in Galicias). With a separate language come the various separatist movements in Spain, which call themselves nationalist movements. Seeing firsthand how linguistics isn’t just drawing tree diagrams but is also a powerful and polemic political tool has driven home the importance of language – it’s not just vocabulary, it’s life and death.

San Sebastian, Day 2

After a good night’s sleep, we stumbled into the kitchen to see what the albergue’s breakfast offerings were like. We filled ourselves up on toast and chocolate rice krispies, donned running clothes, and went for a jog. Heather, being an intense and very good runner, decided to run the entire Concha. Fazed by the fact that I hadn’t put on my sneakers more than 3 times since arriving in Spain, I opted for a slow jog around what we nicknamed “Jesus mountain” for the enormous statue of Christ on top. The real name of the small hill is Monte Urgull. Unlike in Zaragoza, there were actually quite a few joggers out on the boardwalk and the nice sidewalks in San Sebastian. I enjoyed the ocean view, the waves crashing against the rocky cliffs, and the green mountain on my other side. After we met up again at the Ayuntamiento, Heather and I decided to climb up to the Jesus statue, where there was also a castle which we could explore – one of the really cool but completely not busy things we found. I loved the walk up, on tree-lined paths – I hadn’t quite realized how much I missed forests!
After returning to the albergue to shower, we were hungry, and so as tends to me my general course of action, I headed for a panadería on Calle Mayor that we had passed earlier with a smell of fresh-baked bread wafting into the streets. We had to edge our way past a group of traditionally-dressed Vascos singing Christmas carols in Basque to get in the door, but it was worth it. The challenges weren’t over, however: the bread was labeled only in Basque. How frustrating to be in Spain, finally have a good grip of Spanish, and then be confronted with a new language, completely unrelated, and with no clue of the pronunciation! I had expected to encounter some Basque in Basque Country, but I’d never expected a bakery to be completely without any Castilian, or to see advertisements and flyers exclusively in Basque. It really was the principal language – Spanish took the back seat. From a linguistic point of view, the preservation of the incredibly unique Basque is valuable, but from a practical standpoint, it was yet another new challenge. In any case, I ended up with some wonderful bread – delicious, delightfully textured, and still warm. We had to visit a repostería we’d passed, also on Calle Mayor, for dessert, where I bought a “príncipe”, a rolled-up sugar lace cookie filled with chocolate mousse. Absolutely delicious!!
After satisfying our hunger, I wanted to buy some paper and envelopes at a paperlería, and we both wanted to explore the shopping district of the new city. We ventured south into the wider streets, and after exhausting ourselves with exploring, we returned to the albergue for a siesta and ended up chatting with our roommates for a while, until a reasonable hour for dinner. (We knew that the Italian place we’d spotted wouldn’t open until 8.)
The little restaurant was called “Capricciosa”, and I was overjoyed to see pesto risotto on the menu for only about 9 euros. Heather ordered a seafood pizza (which she can attest to the deliciousness of). It was a wonderful meal and a very welcome change from the blandish Spanish food in Zaragoza. Between the flavor-filled tapas of the night before and the lovely basilness of the risotto, I was in love with the País Vasco, simply because of the food. Although I must say, the vast beautiful beach and the tree-covered mountain helped win me over. Another exciting factor of the trip was staying in the youth hostel. We headed back to the albergue around midnight, after another walk on the beach, and used the pretext of thirst to discover who was in the kitchen. We ended up chatting with a group of Italians and French for quite a while, in our common language: Spanish. With an enriched knowledge of western Europe, Heather and I headed to bed, exhausted after another long day, and tried to find our toothbrushes in silence so as not to wake our roommates.

San Sebastian, Day 1

At three o’clock last Friday afternoon, I called Heather. “I’m almost there,” I said urgently, as the first glimpse of the station came into view around the corner. “I’m on the autobus.” I hung up and peered anxiously out the window. Our bus to San Sebastian left in 15 minutes, and I hadn’t yet reached Estación Delicias, Zaragoza’s train and bus terminal. I had the tickets, folded neatly in a “Travel Box” envelope by the nice woman at the travel agency; the albergue (the Spanish word for “youth hostel”) reservations; and a scrawled map on an index card of the two cities we were headed to, San Sebastian and Bilbao, with points of interest marked at the direction of a well-travelled friend of my host mother’s. I also carried a mental image of the location of the bus stations and albergues in each city.

As the bus pulled up to the station, I wheeled my suitcase to the doors and hit the ground running. I met Heather at the stairs down to the bus station and we headed towards bus number 1, which we thought would be ours. Wrong. At that moment, we heard an announcement: “El autobus con destinación San Sebastian, a la puerta número 34.” We ran to the other end of the station and boarded our bus with 5 minutes to spare.

“Next time we’ll go for the 3:45 bus,” Heather said as we settled into our front-row seats.

The three and a half hours to San Sebastian passed quickly, between chatting, napping, and admiring the green landscape of Basque Country (the País Vasco is the autonomous community where Bilbao and San Sebastian are). Zaragoza is, despite being on a river, essentially located in a desert, so the rolling grass-covered hills of Guipuzcoa (the province in which San Sebastian is located) were a welcome change of scenery, and awoke nostalgia of Deerfield’s lower level.

A map of San Sebastian. Our albergue was located on Calle de Peñaflorida.

Upon our arrival, we found a city bus map and figured out which number we needed. We turned around and happened to see our bus stop! Fishing for the right euro change in our pockets, the bus driver asked us where we were headed.

“La parte vieja,” I answered, “the old part.” Our albergue was perfectly located in the center of the city.

“This is the wrong direction,” he said, waving away our fares. “Get off at the next stop and cross the street.”

Ashamed by our false start, we didn’t let it get us down for long. The woman at the front desk of the albergue told us where we could find some great tapas, and then turned us over to another employee who would show us where our room was in a satellite building.

“Jasper will take you there and give you your keys,” the woman said. “He’s completely stoned, but it should be okay.” With this introduction, we followed him across the street and down one block to our building, where we would be sharing a room with four other people.

Although he forgot to give us our keys, we eventually got everything sorted out and met our roommates, four American girls, including one who had studied abroad with SYA six years ago!

I got the bottom bunk in our home for two nights, right on the edge of the Old Part of San Sebastian.

The view from the miniscule balcony in our hostel room.

Hungry from the long trip, although it was still a bit early by Spanish standards, Heather and I hit the tapas bars. My introduction to the brilliance that is pinxos (the Basque word for tapas) was goat cheese slightly melted on top of a plum reduction, followed by a banana and rum croquette for dessert. Heather’s tomato, stuffed with an ambiguous but delicious filling, looked tempting as well. We then decided to see what a San Sebastian café was like, and washed down our tapas with some coffee.

One of the first things we noticed in the café was the high number of loose dogs plodding amongst the tables. All were well-behaved and nicely kept, but the fact that they were inside the building, and not eating the cakes which were displayed on the counter, astounded us.

After coffee, we decided to hit the beach, despite the fact that it was about midnight. The tide was out, the water was dark and smooth, and the lights from the other side of La Concha, the name of San Sebastian’s main beach, reflected in the mirror-like ocean. The beach was abandoned.

The view from the Ayuntamiento in the Old Part.

The view from the Chillida sculpture end of La Concha.

Determined to walk to the other end to see Chillida Leku’s sculpture “El Peine del Viento” (“The Wind’s Comb”), we reloaded our cameras with batteries and set off. At the end, a ladder led to a huge patio, with the sculpture looming out from the cliffs and rock outcroppings. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was a perfect ending to the perfect first day.

Happenings

I have been horrible about keeping up with posts, so here is a quick debreifing on some important happenings.

I have begun tutoring a 13-year-old boy in English twice a week. Like all things, this has its ups (being paid in euros) and downs (preparing lessons), but in general has been a good experience.

This weekend, I'm travelling with a friend to San Sebastian and Bilbao. We have Monday and Tuesday off school, so we'll be staying in San Sebastian for two nights and Bilbao for two nights, staying in albergues (hostels) and eating lots of tapas, for which San Sabastian is famous!

My first European clothing purchase: a purple leather jacket. Well, not real leather...I maintain some of my principles!

While wondering around on a Saturday night, my friend and I discovered a wonderful chocolatería and churrería, where one can purchase 5 churros and a cup of hot chocolate so thick you have to eat it with a spoon for less than 3 euros. Our new favorite dinner place?

Two Sundays ago, a friend of my host mother invited us to a chicken fair in a small town about an hour north. He drove us in his mini-van (not a minivan, but literally a small van) with which he travels about Spain with his dog. We stopped to see Nationalist trenches from the Civil War and wound up in a tent filled with doves, chickens, and other fowl from all over. Of course we also stopped for coffee, which inevitably involved buying a doblado - pastry folded over a filling of pine nuts and cinnamon. The trip was lots of fun and reminded me slightly of the livestock section of the Franklin Country Fair...

This weekend, however, I slept almost the entire time: I unfortunately caught a flu-like virus. However, after a few days at home and in bed, I am back at school and totally ready for the País Vasco this weekend!

Madrid: Lunes 9 hasta Viernes 13 | Friday

How sad to wake up on the last day with the heavy knowledge of departure! We dragged our feet walking down to breakfast, but picked up the pace a little bit after one last visit to Starbucks. Our final visit was to the Palacio Real, a huge palace where the king of Spain still resides occasionally but now mainly used to host guests and ceremonies. The tour only covered about 8 of the thousands of rooms, but was enough of a glance to give us an idea of the incredible splendor of the Spanish royal court. Each room had a differently designed chandelier, impressive wallpaper, carpeting, and woodwork, and lovely furniture. My favorite rooms were those lit by the grand glass chandeliers, leading me to believe that if the added electric lights bordering the rooms were turned off and the chandeliers lit, the palace would be magical – the rooms were designed, after all, to be lit from the interior.

The King of Spain doesn’t have any real duties. In the “On the Crown” section of the Constitution, he is explicitly relived from “all responsibilities”, and in any situation in which he “names” people to political positions, he literally does just that: announces their names by reading from the paper sent to him by the Senate or Congress, the houses which have actually chosen who will fill the positions. His charge is to maintain the palaces and represent Spain internationally. King Juan Carlos, the current leader, oversaw the Spanish transition to democracy in the 1970s after the death of Franco, and is generally liked by the people – in fact he is much more popular than President Zapatero – although a lot of the public are beginning to find the position of king rather useless and obsolete.

The metro’s speed and directions from some helpful madrileños permitted those of us who wanted to visit El Prado or El Thyssen to reach the museum district with a couple of hours left before we met to leave for the train station. I hadn’t yet been to the Museo del Thyssen, which had a special exhibit called “Lágrimas de Eros”. The exhibit had made the newspaper even in Zaragoza and was shown in the television news as well, so I really couldn’t miss it. I loved the exhibit and left with just enough time to catch the subway back to the hotel, where we descended to the metro once again but for the last time.

Faster than a speeding bullet, we arrived back in Zaragoza, just in time to start the weekend! However, my exciting plans to meet a friend who had gone to Salamanca with another group fizzled when we both missed each other’s calls because we’d fallen asleep right after dinner, exhausted from the wonderful mini-viajes.

Museo Reina Sofía: Favorites

"Siurana" por Joan Miró

"Mujer con Abanico" por Laurens

"La Ventana Abierta" por Juan Gris

"Guernica" por Pablo Picasso

(Guernica is a city in Spain that was bombed during the Civil War, resulting in complete destruction and the deaths of many innocent people. Picasso has a lot of works about war, and they all do a wonderful job of showing the terror and destruction.)

"Grito Nº 7" por Antonio Saura


"Gran Profeta" por Pablo Gargallo

"Figura Tumbada" por Francis Bacon

"Desnudos en la Playa" por Togores

"Agricola Head" por Smith

Madrid: Lunes 9 hasta Viernes 13 | Thursday

Luckily the Senate building was close enough to the hotel that we could walk. It was our first stop on Thursday morning, and the fresh air woke us up. In Spanish, the word for government, “gobierno”, doesn’t refer to the entire political body that governs the nation, but only the executive branch, consisting of the President (chosen from the senate by the senate) and his ministers (what we might call his “administration”, as in “the Bush administration”). The whole shebang is called “el Estado”, the State. The Senate is one of the two houses in the legislative branch, the other being the House of Representatives. Representatives at least (we haven’t studied the Senate in Political Sciences yet) are voted for party, not by name. If I wanted to support, for example, the Partido Social Obrero de España (PSOE), I would go into the voting booth and mark “PSOE”, not “Juan Riviera” or “Luisa Goya”. Say the number of seats in the Congress available for my autonomous community is 30. Before the election, the party would have drawn up a list of 30 candidates for spots as representatives. If the party then wins 50% of the vote, the first 15 candidates on the list will become representatives.

The daily routine of a senator is actually quite busy, filled with meetings and conferences, and every week or two a grand meeting with the President and ministers to find out first hand through questions and answers about what the executive branch is up to.

After the Senate, we boarded the metro for a 30-minute ride to the outskirts of Madrid where the publication offices of El Mundo, probably the second or third most read newspaper in Spain, are located, along with other publications such as Marca (a sports newspaper which is the most-read Spanish language publication) and Económica (an economics weekly). Right in front of the place where the tour began was a glass office where a meeting of the editorial board was convened, deciding the layout and choosing the articles for the day’s paper. A few journalists were at their desks, but most were absent, out doing field work. The work on the day’s newspaper begins at 8 or 9 in the morning and doesn’t end until the wee hours of the night, or more technically the morning of the next day. The building also sported an audio recording room, mainly for purposes of El Mundo’s website, and a radio station. I was surprised that everyone works so close together – I figured that the Scroll had such small quarters simply because we were stuck in a basement, but even in El Mundo everyone works side-by-side, and each paper is a true team effort.

After we left the offices, we boarded the metro to head back downtown where we dispersed throughout the city for lunch. I found a great vegetarian restaurant, and although I once again ate alone due to lack of interest from the others in a vegetarian place, the food was so good that it kept me company. Before a meeting of the political science class at 5 o’clock, I had time to stop back at El Prado to visit the wing I’d run out of time for the day before.

Our class met in a Moroccan tea place, where we all ordered different types of tea which each came in their own individual silver teapot with a small glass cup. We discussed a future project, a poll to discover the public opinion of politics in Spain (what a huge goal for a small class in a tiny school!), and brainstormed some hypothesis: the people feel disconnected because they don’t know the names of their representatives, young people are uninterested and uninformed because they aren’t educated about the political system, the media portrays politics as a dishonorable and lazy vocation…grand sweeping statements to hopefully be disproved by a public survey at some point in the future.

As we drank the last drops of our tea and adjourned the meeting, I asked Antonio (the political science teacher) the way to the Museo de la Reina Sofía, Madrid’s more modern art museum. He walked me and a few other interested students almost all the way there, where I stayed until the closing time of 9. A couple of the exhibits were a bit too abstract for me to enjoy, but I loved all the Picasso, his masterpiece “Guernica”, and the Joan Miró and Dalí as well. The building was gorgeously designed, with glass elevators looking out over a plaza and a giant glass library. I will definitely have to spend some more time exploring the museum, library, and café when I return to Madrid.

Looking forward to the crepes and cheese waiting in the hotel room, I decided to walk back to the hotel, detouring slightly to walk through the Plaza Mayor, which was lovely lit up at night. I arrived at the hotel around 10-ish, but not before stopping at a wonderful looking panadería I’d passed many times and finally had a moment to stop in to. The loaves were sold by the whole, half, or quarter, with each loaf being probably a foot and a bit more in diameter. As soon as I saw the sign for sourdough rye, I knew what I was getting – the first sourdough I’d found in Spain, and by far the best bread I’d eaten yet! I managed to resist consuming the whole glorious piece right there and saved the majority of it to pair with cheese for lunch the next day.

With a great pressure to finish off the eggs, I made another few batches of crepes for my roommates and friends, and we popped some popcorn as a wonderfully American accompaniment.

My Favorites: El Prado

"Jardín de las Delicias", by El Bosco

"Reclining Woman", by Raimundo de Madrazo

"La Vereda" by Carlos de Haes (all his landscapes are great!)

Fantasy Sobre Fausto, by Mariano Fortuny