Semana Blanca Part 1: The people that crossed my path

Last Sunday I began my long road journey to a pueblo of a pueblo in another part of Andalucía.  Two buses, one taxi, and nearly 8 hours later I walked down a dark path, "torch" in hand (thinking what-the-eff have I gotten myself into), and knocked at the blue door of Sunseed Desert Technology.

But I would first like to describe my experience through some of the people I met during my week.  In a small effort to make it anonymous, I’ve stuck with initials. 

Ms. K (British): One of the staff members and the leader of the garden and the first SDT face I saw when I arrived.  I worked with Ms. K the first day turning compost piles in the garden.  I instantly gained respect for her as she shamelessly pored gallons of stale urine on the compost piles.  Her haircut gave away her past head of dreads, which one could picture around her sweet face and falling down her heavy woolen jacket easily.

Ms. A (Kiwi): Another staff member whom I worked with from day one, in charge of the dry lands and nursery.  We started with compost piles on the first day (she didn't seem quite as adept as Ms. K, but her effort was just as genuine) and by Wednesday we were driving through Almería to botanical gardens and nurseries researching endangered and protected plant species for the project.  I liked Ms. A a lot, and I think part of our connection had to be my fondness for her home country.

Mr. J (Brit): Project manager whom I probably knew the least after all was said and done.  The first night standing in the kitchen we had a conversation about responsible meat eating, of which he doesn't participate - of the meat-eating part.  The dialogue came to an end when his opinion was such that if one is willing to kill an animal, one should be willing to kill themselves.  I disagree, to say the least.  But disagreements we're few, and so were interactions as he usually took on solo or technical projects during the volunteer hours.  What few we did have didn't always leave me with the best taste in my mouth, but it was hardly lasting either.  But he did play the didgeridoo, and that made him pretty cool.

Ms. G (Wales): Trustee from the British end of the project whom I crossed paths with for only the first 24 hours before she left again on a two day bus trip to return to the UK.  I understand that travel-by-land is usually greener than air travel.  But, two days??  I commend her because it certainly would not be worth it to me.  I'd rather plant the extra trees (but I'm hardly doing that either...)

Ms. C and Mr. F (Canadian and Irish):  A cute young couple that was staying at SDT for two months while traveling around the south of Spain before settling back in Belfast.  They each spend three years in Korea teaching, which gave them a lot of street cred from my p.o.v.  Mr. F was intensely working on this bridge made of caña (like bamboo) and when Ms. C wasn't sewing pillows for the community, she generally was too.  

Sra. P (Castilla Leon, Spain): One of two Spaniards on the project with a beautiful dark mohawk finishing with three long dreads.  On Wednesday we went to yoga in Sorbas together, which was one of the few moments we spent together.  She hardly had any time between running around and organizing projects, grants, fundraising, and everything else that nobody else did.

Mr. M (Landcaster, England): Friend of Ms. K that was visiting for most the time I was there.  He was soft-spoken and extremely intelligent, worldly, and traveled.  

Mrs. E and Mr. D (Australians):  I met Mr. and Mrs. Aussie a couple days into my stay and was instantly working with David hauling date palms across the property and going to yoga with Mrs. E later that night.  The two were both engineers looking to move to Europe and find work.  They had been at SDT 3 weeks and were staying 2 more before moving on to France.  At the end I shared a cab with them and we discussed our (what seemed like) similar views about SDT and the project.  I enjoyed their company and wished so much that I had actually gotten to know them better.

Sra. A (Valencia, Spain): I first met Sra. A Tuesday morning and was already helping her to cut and prepare the copious amounts of cabbage from the gardens for sauerkraut.  Like Sra P, Sra A. usually spoke Spanish with me, taking every opportunity to not speak English when not completely necessary (eg., the other staff/volunteers that came usually knowing little-to-no Spanish).  She and I got along especially well, and I would generally volunteer to help her with her kitchen/preserving duties.  On the last days, I was scaling hills picking then pealing Chumba fruit (or what I've always known as Prickly Pear) and we were making jams and breads in my last moments on the project.  She was definitely one of the hardest people to leave in the end.

Mr. B (French Tunisian):  I first met Mr B my second day into the project and instantly liked him; He was young and smart.  Then after a couple more days of his smart(ass-ness) and telling me what he thought I should do/methods I should use/what would be better, I got my share of him just before he disappeared without telling anyone Thursday morning.  Everyone was much kinder to his strange disappearance than I would have been, but I think many were just as relieved.  But he did make some damn good mojopicon salsa - and left before giving me the recipe.  Damn him again.

Mr. Ma (Romanian): One of the few people closest to my age at the project, and it would often be obvious.  I was often left working with Mr. Ma, in the compost or with the sauerkraut as he generally took duties that weren't particularly (physically) challenging.  Probably says more about me than him, but thought my theory was made obvious when he revealed that he wanted to change from being a full-time to a part-time volunteer to have more free time.  I guess I can relate to that - even being a part-time volunteer, I didn't feel like I had as much free time as I was promised.

Ms. F (German): My only other roommate in our 6-bed women's dorm.  She was a smart girl from southern Germany, studying in Vienna.  Her personal project was researching natural/organic cosmetics and household cleansers.  The first afternoon, in an effort to also huddle around the dull fire flame in the dinning room, I read her books and helped her to discover the powers of baking soda and vinegar (if only she had moved in with my family years ago).  Other days we bonded over licking leftovers in the warm kitchen, making tea, and then in the morning complaining about having to go to the bathroom all night, but refusing to venture out into the cold.

Mr. A (Brit): Oh A.  I probably ended up getting to know Mr. A the most as I would generally volunteer to help with dinner prep and A was generally helping with dinner as he was most experienced with cooking for big groups (from his many years of cooking Mexican food at music festivals).  He had been in and out of southern Spain and SDT for years and had now committed to making it home for as long as possible after being shorted out of UK child support and could no longer share in taking care of his two young children.  The first night I met A, he was wearing a hat that disguised most of his age, as I originally thought he was no older than his 20s.  The next day, without the hat I barely recognized him (wait - did I meet him?) but did recognize the youthful personality that exuded him.   

Embarking on Semana Blanca

Malaga is fortunate in that we get this extra week off in Spring called Semana Blanca.  Nobody I've spoken with really knows/understands why we get this week off from work (maybe something to do with the Malaga fair being during summer when people are already off work).  But let's be real: We're in Andalucia and nobody really needs any legitimate reason to take an extra break from responsibility.

So, for this next week I'll be spending time as a volunteer in a sustainability project in Sorbas, Almeria - a few hours east of Malaga.

I can't say I'm not excited.  And I can't say I'm not anxious.  But I can say it will be a great adventure and I'll be sharing my experience once I get back, knowing it will probably be one for my personal record books (Dr. Bronner's magic soap and a backpack full of reading materials in tow).

If anybody would like to check out the project I'll be working on, check out Sunseed.

It can't all fit in a package.

It's really crazy what you miss when you're away. Like today, I felt nostalgic for the Renaissance Festival.  Seriously, the Renaissance Festival - something I haven't been to for years, even when I was home.  You start missing everything, just for the sheer reason that you don't have it at your disposal, and it's so far away.  Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

This past week has actually been filled with a strong sense of nostalgia. And I am happy to report that it is indeed just nostalgia and not home sickness. The difference? I LOVE home, but I'm not especially eager to be back in the immediate moment.  Nope, I've got a lot more to see and do before I cross the Atlantic again.  

But, although I might not be eager, being here has made it so obvious to me how much I love where I come from and an overwhelming sense of appreciation for being and American citizen.

I think a lot my recent sentiment started after I watched the music video for Duck Sauce's "Barbara Streisand."  You're more than likely going to watch it and wonder "what the f...." I don't blame you. But for me, right now, that video was a solid reminder of so much of what I love about the United States (in no particular order): diversity, creativity, gumption, entrepreneurship, enthusiasm, pride, ingenuity, playfulness and dedication, among so many other non-verbal qualities (maybe its just that nostalgia kicking in that makes me so inarticulate).

So, in honor of my nostalgia for all things American, a list of things I'm currently missing like crazy:

• Driers - so my jeans would fit again.
• Central heating - Yes, it does get cold in Europe.
• Things being open on Sunday - So I could be more productive.
• Things being open during siesta - please refer to previous statement.
• A gym open on a Sunday - they're not doing me any favors;  Saturday nights usually need redemption.
• Wheaty/nutty breads - I've had my fill of soft delicious white baguettes, and they're filling me in a bit too.
• Stand to the right, walk to the left - I don't always like hanging out in back of the señoras on the moving sidewalk/escalator, and well, everywhere else too.
• American schedule - I can't say I especially love eating lunch at 2 and dinner at 10.  It's makes me so unbalanced.
• Variety - 'nough said.
• Mexican food - ditto.
• Driving - buses and trains just don't satisfy the need for autonomous movement.
• Convenience - But really, I just miss Target.  
• FroYo - but I guess that may be just a blessing after all.  Maybe I'll finally break my Yogurtland addiction.
• Automatic hot water - admittedly, I have the best bombona situation possible: a piped in gas heater.  But sometimes, I just don't want to have to think about it.
• Trader Joe's/Whole Foods/Sunflower - that might just fall into the "variety" category too.  And "organics." And "awareness."  All things I also miss.
• NPR in the morning - at the very least, I'm grateful to stream it after noon.  Provided my internet works.

Wanted: a support group

Hi. My name is Katie and I have a problem. I can't stop shopping.

But not for clothes or accessories.  Not for purses or shoes. Not for music or movies. Not for cosmetics or perfumes. Nope. None of that stuff. That stuff is easy to avoid.

But every time I walk by a market, a Mercadona, Eroski, an ultramarinos, a fruteria, or a panaderia, it takes every ounce (metric: gram) of strength I have not to go in and wander the aisles.

Grocery shopping here is somewhat of an opiate for me. I'm a self-professed foodie, and I can't seem to get enough of the incredibly cheap produce, large shelves of inexpensive spices by the gram (saffron!!), tubs of nuts, dried fruits, and succulent olives, enormous bottles of fresh unfiltered olive oil (the definition of "extra virgin"!), and smooth red crianzas and tempranillos from just up north.

Barcelona is famous for its market, La Boqueria, right off La Ramblas. Yes... it's kind of like that. Except its much cheaper, and with a whole lot fewer tourists. In all the cities I've visited, in all the small neighborhoods, you'll find municipal markets filled with vendors of all types: fruit, vegetables, nuts, spices, fish, meat, cheese, candy, chocolates, bread, and most anything else that might tickle your fancy - as long as it's right-off-the-truck fresh.

For anything else that you need/want/found-a-great-recipe-online and it comes with a label, just head to one of the great supermarkets.  My personal favorite (and I think the Spaniards are with me on this one) is Mercadona. Last year I was fortunate enough to live spitting distance from a Mercadona (a blessing and a curse). This year, the closest one to me is about a 15 minute walk away (a blessing and a curse), but I'm also fortunate that my Monday private lessons take me right by it (a blessing and a curse).  Going with a list is futile. I've tried. My hand-basket-with-wheels gets overwhelmed within minutes after passing by the fragrant fresh bread, the yummy serving-size yogurts, the cheese self that doesn't end, the jamon sliced fresh just for you, and even more inexpensive produce to tempt me.  Only Jesus himself could resist these succulent demons. Or maybe just anyone else with slightly more will power than me.

And then there's the endless search to find those special ingredients from home - sometimes for nosalgia, or sometimes for that recipe I'm dying to make but it calls for vanilla extract or tomato paste (and no, tomate frite is just not going to cut it). With luck, El Corte Ingles has what me and all the other guiris are searching. Normally, I just get lost in their gourmet section and never find it anyway. What? Is there something wrong with that?

My food budget is definitely larger than what most others here spend. And by "budget" I mean the money I get from my lessons that usually immediately gets deposited into the register of the next grocer I see selling Huelvan strawberries for 1.50 euros a kilo (that's about 75 US cents/pound - you didn't believe me when I said cheap, did you?) You might ask: how many kilos of strawberries could you possibly buy with your tutoring money? Well, about one kilo, and a bag of other groceries to keep them company.

So in the end, here I am; a food lover, stuck in a place that indulges me and my addictions.

Too late, but welcomed all the same.

At the beginning of this year, Spain finally passed a loophole-free anti-smoking law.

There had been lots of murmurings in the anticipation of the law going into effect.   In 2006, a different law was passed that more or less banned smoking in workspaces and allowed small establishments to choose whether to be a smoke-free zone.

Yeah. That worked swell.  Any place that did ban smoking only lost patrons to those that didn't, and then in turn reversed their policy to lure them back.

So now, probably in an act of desperation, saving face, and pride, Spain has now enacted one of the most restrictive no-smoking laws in all of Europe.  And I quote (from another blogger who's much more informed than I):

"According to the new law, smoking is now forbidden in all places of work, both public and private and all public buildings. Employees who want to smoke must do so outside, and must make up the time lost at work too.  Restaurants, discos and bars over 100m2 must provide a separate area for smokers which must be equipped with clear signs, be properly divided from the main area with its own ventilation system, must not be in an area where people have to walk through to get in or out of the establishment and can not be more than 30 percent of the total area of the establishment and never more than 300 metres. Any establishments unable to provide a separate area with the said features are obliged to prohibit smoking altogether. Owners of bars, cafes and restaurants under 100m2 can decide whether or not to allow smoking on the premises. Shops, supermarkets, newsagents (kioscos) etc. are no longer authorised to sell cigarettes, cigars or tobacco. The only establishments allowed to sell tobacco are licensed estancos, the traditional stamp and cigarette shops in Spain."

Phew.  It's crazy to think that I had actually gotten used to going to restaurants, bars and clubs and being molested by the smoke, and then coming home only to still have it on my clothes and in my hair.  What seems funnier though, is that now that things have changed, I have hardly noticed it, and only do when my attention is specifically drawn to the fact that the room isn't filled with burning smoke.  It's funny the things you take for granted when you've been living smoke-free for years now.

I think many people are still holding their breath (pun intended) to see if this whole thing really pans out and works in the long run.  Of course places are seriously worried about losing business because of the strict new law.  But if only they would look to the future and only realize that what might be lost is only temporary and smokers will only adjust their habits in accordance to the new laws.  Non-smokers might also indulge in a few more drinks because their eyes aren't stinging anymore.  If all restaurants adhere to the law, no restaurant will loose business.  But honestly, I can't see the Spanish using such common-sense reason, especially given how the loose the last law was.  There are already several reports of certain restaurants and bars refusing to enforce it.  I'm curious to see where that leads.

For now, I just giggle at the group of people standing outside the doors, in the cold, smoking away.  Meanwhile the rest of us can finally breath a sigh of relief.

Sometimes I'm grateful to be so far away.

Thoughts and prayers are with Gabrielle
Giffords and other victims.

Last week my home state of Arizona, and the whole of the United States suffered a great tragedy.  

My head has had its moments of confusion and my heart its moments of pain.  My heart really hurts.  It hurts for those injured and killed and their families.  It hurts for the Tucson community that will forever have this scar.  It hurts for Arizona, which has been plagued with overwhelming hate, bigotry, and ignorance in more recent months.  It hurts for my country; for not living up its basic principle of civility and unity, particularly under distress.

Make no mistake.  The headlines have not stopped at our borders.  Many people here have tiptoed around the issue with me.  They gently ask me about what happened: have I heard... so sad... wasn't that your state...?  So far my only response has been to sigh and roll my eyes in a solemn acknowledgement (as I've come accustomed to doing with the year's national and international headlines coming from Arizona).  I don't know what to say or how to react, and have generally felt that way for months now with the current political climate.  This tragedy only makes it all the more real that we've crossed the line into completely despicable speech and behavior.

I agree, to a certain extent, with John Stewart who stated afterwards that one cannot point a finger at the vitriolic rhetoric as the cause of Saturday's shootings any more than heavy metal music is to blame for the Columbine shootings: crazy is crazy.  But hate is hate, and it shouldn't be tolerated in a civil society.  The  future is grim when hate (i.e. ignorance) permeates our thoughts, words, and actions towards our fellow citizens.   

And that's why I've been so grateful these past months, this year and last, to have lived far away from it all.  I've been able to discriminately watch tv and read the news, not being involuntarily subjected to the poisonous rhetoric that has infiltrated the print and airwaves.  Particularly last year, during the midterm elections, I couldn't have been more content not watching the tidal waves of negative campaign ads that tirelessly run for months leading up to November.

I would love to be optimistic and think that this event might change things, and we might be more humane in the way we treat and speak of each other.  But I'm not, and I don't think things will change, not yet at least.  I don't know what it will take, how many people need to be affected and hurt (physically, mentally, spiritually, etc) before things turn around and we begin to emphasize tolerance over ignorance, and love over hate.

For now, I'm considering staying overseas until after the 2012 presidential election.

The Kings escort out the holidays

I must admit.  I had become pretty jaded about the holidays.

When I was little, Christmas was always so much fun.  There was lots of family around, hot chocolate and sweets abound, the Christmas lights still adorned most homes, and gifts under the tree were aplenty.  As family dwindled, sweets lost their novelty, neighbors left and lights faded, and things to unwrap grew sparse due to age, what was left of Christmas was often just the tackless dribble of overplayed and underwhelming songs and the incessant ads on TV.

Nowadays it seems as if Halloween has barely passed before Christmas junk has gone up on stores shelves, ads become a nuisance before the end of November, and songs are now playing on the radio 24/7 before Thanksgiving.  The magic of Christmas and the holidays had mostly worn off and left me wishing it could just be perpetually a season of Thankgivings instead.

And then this year, I was in Malaga.

Almost as if timed perfectly just for us, the Saturday of our Thanksgiving celebration, the grand lights of Malaga were turned on to usher in a beautiful season.  Sorry Madrid and Barcelona, but you've got nothing on Malaga.  The streets had been tastefully lined with stunning lights and decorations that took your breath away at every corner turned.

Then, for the next 6 weeks, the street performers changed their tunes to holiday jingles, carolers of all types went singing through the streets, and music students formed string and brass quartets, and even full bands, all to the delight of the people walking around them.

Oh and did the people dar un paseo!  On any given night, provided it wasn't raining, the people of Malaga were out and about!  Every proceeding weekend night, walking through the city I would swear to myself that never had I ever seen so many people out on town, and that everyone and their child, and mother, and grandmother must be out enjoying the festivities.

Last night, the final Spanish celebration for the season passed with the arrival of the Three Magi Kings.  Families gather in the center of the city for the long parade through the streets.  Obviously, never witnessing one myself, I didn't go last night expecting a lot.  But a lot did unfold: beautiful contraptions of moving birds and fish, a flowing acrobat hanging from a tower of balloons, and then floats of children throwing out handfuls of caramelos to the little and big children lining the street, scraping the ground for them, acquiring as many as possible.

Today, a beautiful sunny day, reminded me much of Christmas mornings at home in Arizona.  Running through the streets and boardwalk, I saw many of family out with the kids testing out all their new toys that the kings had brought them in their sleep.  The day stayed quiet with most everything closed aside from the spare restaurant and cafe.  Then later in the evening, I took a stroll to enjoy the warm evening and the last of the lights and festivities.  I bought a café and un trozo de rosco, a piece of the delicious Kings' Cake, baked in the shape of a large wreath, with your choice of cream or no cream.

On my way back to the apartment, I came across a quartet and realized that through the whole of the season, not once had I actually stopped to listen to the musicians.  So this time I did.  And I stopped to just soak it all in and enjoy this truly festive and genuine season.

In the next few days, the lights will come down, the players will return to their traditional repertoire, and the stores will give way to sales.  But in these last few weeks, I have come to appreciate and regard the winter holidays in a way I thought was lost on me.  But indeed, the spirit of Christmas, and the Three Kings, lives on.