18 December 2009

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.

17 December 2009

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.

16 December 2009

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.

15 December 2009

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 19th 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.

14 December 2009

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.

13 December 2009

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.