Sunday, October 24, 2010

Nothing's perfect!

Today I made a sandwich and hiked up to the viewpoint on the way to the Castle.  It's a beautiful walk up supplemented with sweeping views of the city, harbor, and bull ring.  Half the postcards on stands feature the incredible vista at the apex of this walk.

Understandably, the ease of maintaining the hillside path usually leave it much to be desired.  The walkway is usually littered with broken glass, plastic bags, empty cans, and other post-party paraphernalia not to mention the dried spills and deposits of you-don't-want-to-know, and the consequential smells of the combination of everything.  Off the path scattered among the eucalyptus, oaks, and cacti, it looks like a time capsule of the many irresponsible individuals and their exploits.

Unfortunately, this is more of the rule rather than the exception around the city.  As much as I love Malaga, it's far from being a perfect city, and in many ways falls short where other Spanish cities seem to have an advantage.  The nearby Malagueta beach is notorious for its litter and cigarette refuse.  And going anywhere outside the tourist center means you'll encounter an inordinate amount of trash and animal excrement.  The general rule is: always look down when walking.  Near the stadium and site of the Sunday flea market the trash has formed massive heaps along the river banks where people have simply tossed their boxes, plastics, and whatnot over the side.  Most would have a difficult time discerning between it and a landfill.  It becomes more revolting to then think that when water does flow through the channel what it would then take with it to the sea.

As a result (it would seem), Malaga is infested with stray cats and flies.  I've heard a rumor that the Mayor is attempting to attack the cat problem, although not diligently, as they want to keep a small population to deal with the rodent problem as well (however, extra food from people and restaurants keeps either population to stabilize).  And the flies are so annoying that to stay in any one place for too long becomes unendurable.  Heck, it doesn't even take staying still for them to be complete pests.

It's sad to see and hard to understand a community that does not take more pride in how it presents itself.  Or maybe that's exactly the point: in most areas that are frequented by the massive amounts of tourists (most on pre-designated routes through the city) are well kept.  Everywhere else is treated more or less like a dump.  And there are no lack of trash cans either, which indicates not a lack of effort on the city's part, but rather places blame on the citizens and visitors.

I wont pretend to understand the psychology or demographics behind the phenomenon, and why it seems to be more prevalent here than any other Spanish city I've visited (and I still admit, my personal experiences are incomplete).  All I can confidently say is that as much as I love Malaga, it troubles me that the MalagueƱos don't necessarily feel the same sense of pride and joy for their inherently beautiful city to maintain it at the same high standard.

Monday, October 18, 2010

So much like home

This summer, I developed a theory about myself.  It's not very deep, or even very wise.  But I think being here in Malaga has only proved it to be true.

Since I was three, I've lived spitting distance from the airport.  Ok, maybe not that close, but pretty darn close.  Our home was so close that under the city ordinance we had to have all of our windows and doors replaced with those to keep the sound out of the approaching planes.  They don't have their gear down yet, but you can practically see the numbers under the belly.

I've fallen asleep to their dull (and sometimes not-so-dull) roar.  I find amusement in just watching them take off and land, even going out of my way to do so.  I spend summer evenings in the pool watching them make their final decent and I even run outside when Dad calls to say that Air Force One has just taken off (no matter who's presiding).  I usually wonder where they're flying to, or where they're coming from, who's aboard, why their traveling.

To me, planes and airports have always signaled progress, exchange, diversity, openness, communication, culture, and pretty much anything else that "traveling" also means to me.  Therefore, living far from a major airport also seemed like the absence of many of these qualities too (whether true or not).

I'm comfortable with planes.  But more accurately, planes make me comfortable, and their presence have always signaled "home" and a brought a certain peace of mind.  Last year in Cordoba, the absence of planes was practically deafening.  I searched the skies for any sign of life, and on the rare occasion of seeing a plane (so high up it was more of a shooting star) I would get so excited most would believe me to be crazy.  On more than one occasion, my friends made mention my uncanny ability to spot or hear a plane  in the far, far distance, and still thought me crazy for it (I don't really blame them).

This year, I've found myself more at peace, and feeling more at home and I think so much of it has to do to the proximity to the airport.  Often I can hear the planes taking off over our apartment and watch them as they start their journey.  And because it makes me recall a home I've always known, I can feel the comfort of that home even when being so far away.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Visit from home

This last week I had the pleasure of having my mom visit.  Although we had a rocky start (flying standby has it's risks, including being delayed by a day), once she got her, we did everything to make up for lost time.

Las Cuevas de Nerja
I met her in Madrid so that we wouldn't lose any more time and we could catch up on the train ride back to Malaga.  After arriving, we indulged in Lebanese food, a long walk around town, and tea and baklava at my new favorite place.  Tuesday we made a day trip to Nerja, a seaside resort town east of Malaga.  The trip proved even more fulfilling than anticipated: the caves were absolutely incredible, the ice cream delicious, the town quaint, and the beach beautiful.  Must go back with everyone I know.

Looking out at the beach in Nerja
On Wednesday and Thursday Mom took the map and spare cell and explored Malaga while I was teaching, and then had equally full afternoons and long walks.  Trying to squeeze in everything remaining, Friday we made it to the main market to pick up a few snacks before heading out to the botanical garden.  The garden was also better than anticipated, full of tropical plants, flowers, waterfalls, palms, and incredible views of the city from afar.  We found a fig tree that we maneuvered a path to and picked ripe fruit that we ate right there (and stored a few for later).  I could have stayed around the tree for hours trying to hunt down all the sweet pieces on that plant - it seemed too good to be true.  To finish everything off, that night I took mom to the 15th floor of the AC Hotel to catch a glimpse of one of the best views of Malaga (and there are a lot of good ones!) and one that's practically magical at night.


This morning, we woke up early to get her off to the airport.  Sad to see her go, but it's always nice to get back to a routine (and a diet - salad please!).  Today, I took a long run by the port and the boardwalk and at one point couldn't help but grin as I counted my blessings and how lucky I am to have this opportunity, again.
It's hard to get pictures together when you travel as a pair!
- Our self portrait from the hotel, with the Cathedral in the back.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Highlights of the week:

Monday: Returned from Scotland and met the new roommates and ate our hearts out at one of my new favorite restaurants.  They're pretty cool, and I'm jazzed for the next 9 months of possibilities (and believe me, there are a lot within an apartment of 3 young, beautiful ladies).

Tuesday: Took a post-siesta bus to Cordoba to pick up the remains of my things I had left behind for the summer.  I was completely excited when my intercambio, Gabriela and Juan, were able to meet me for dinner and we went to one of the tastiest restaurants in Cordoba.  It's always a feast of conversation and food with them, and we weren't short on either Tuesday night.  Salmorejo, jamon, clams, solomillo, wine, and flaming dessert could only be upstaged by Gabriela's wonderful news of her own little bun in the oven.  I couldn't be happier for the two of them.

Wednesday: The National Strike.  So, the Spanish don't strike as often as the French do, but they'll usually take any reason for an extra day off, and the huelga general was no different.  The unions claim that they protested due to "austerity measures" and budget cuts that effected workers' pensions and benefits.  I guess I'm just not all that sympathetic and didn't see much of anything being accomplished by a (half-assed) strike (most businesses stayed open, and those that closed only did so for safety reasons).  Walking through Cordoba on the day of the strike was odd.  Posters promoting the strike plastered buildings, vans drove around broadcasting support, and sloppy graffiti tags ("29-S Huelga") added that extra touch of class to the whole thing.  Alex and I had the misfortune of routing our way through the city that day passing (by NO exaggeration) between the riot police guarding the (open) department store and the massive crowd of protestors.  We hurried along a little faster when we heard a firecracker explode somewhere nearby.  There were reports of police cars burned in Barcelona and other minor bouts of violence across the country, but nowhere did I hear of the government suddenly reversing the cuts that have been praised by other foreign leaders.  Sure it sucks that the world and workers are having to pay for the sin of a few, but so is our current situation.  But having an extra cafe con leche and waving a union flag isn't going to solve anything, and only makes things worse for civil servants later picking up the slack.  I only would have been more frustrated by the whole ridiculous matter if my bus back to Malaga had been canceled (as most other buses and train services had).  The Spanish should be grateful it wasn't.

Thursday: Back in Malaga for more than two seconds, I was finally able to visit my school.  After a short 10 minute walk (followed by 20 minutes of being lost and walking in a circle), I found my school tucked away in the middle of the university.  I met many of the teachers I'll be working with and my bilingual coordinator.  The whole day gave me very good vibes and a spirit of collaboration and understanding.  They worked hard at getting a cohesive schedule for me (still in the works) and giving me Fridays off.  One teacher has already asked that I tutor her two children, already giving me a few extra pennies a week to play around with.  Leaving, I walked around the block to find the closest gym with a rockin' good deal, and I'm excited about becoming a Malaga gym rat.

Friday: Woke up super early to meet a new auxiliar to apply for our residencies.  Unfortunately in Spain, there is no standardized process - either from region-to-region, city-to-city, case-by-case.  Everyone has a completely different experience, all usually ranging from agonizingly long waits, to extra paperwork, to returning several times, to downright harrowing.  I expected all of the above, but hoped (of course) for the very best.  Luckily, even given a few initial misunderstandings and missteps, we got ours completed in less than 2 hours - a record by most standards and stories.  I finished a morning of productivity off by finding the municipal market across the street from the apartment and indulged in some cheap produce.

And now, at the beginning of October, the start of the school year, and the completion of a most eventful (and positive) week, I'm extremely eager to settle down into my MalagueƱa routine and make the most out of the next 8 months.