Spanish city

Iberian Ham is a specialty of my current country.  It functions along the same line as Fruit Cake where relatives send them to each other over the holidays when they have no better ideas.  There are many differences between the two gifts, for one, Iberian Ham is food.  But it is unlike any edible I have ever seen before.  First of all I don't know how anyone affords to send the damn thing every year.  It appears to be the rear leg and hip of the most physcially fit pigs in history.  It would be like sending a small child across the country via fedex, or at least it would be if every one of your distant family members sent you a child every year.  Apparently for Christmas last year my host family recieved ten of these ham legs.  When I arrived in September they had given away nine to local friends and still had a quarter of a leg left.  I know how much they had left because of how the meat is stored.  Storing the leg in a fridge would be as impractical as storing your small children there.  Sure you could, but it is much easier to just mount it on a spike and leave it on the counter (The ham, not your small children).  This is because the meat is so salty it does not need to be kept cold, instead it is kept out on the counter and covered with a cloth, everyone knows that when bacteria encounter a cotton blanket they just shrug their shoulders and turn around.

Since the ham is a speciality it is sold just about everywhere, from supermarkets to bars there are many, many, pig legs hanging from the ceiling.  Many bars also have smaller sandwhiches made with the meat that are available to anyone dining on topas, which happen to be another great Spanish concept.  Topas are small platters covered with food that line the counter of every bar I have seen in San Sebastian.  During dinner time or after work people will go from place to place eating a little bit at every location and having a couple drinks.  Beers are extremely popular here but I think they would be very expensive.  I do not know for sure because Rotary rules forbid me from drinking but I'm basing this guess on what every other drink costs here.  If you order coke at a bar or restaurant it will be about half the size of an American one (355mL compared to 220mL) and more than twice the price.  Well that's not a huge deal, I mean coke has to be imported so it makes sense it would be more expensive, you could always just stick with water, that can't be too hard to get so it would make sense that it would be cheaper, right?   Wrong.  If you do order water be prepared to pay one hundred million billion times more than what you would pay in an American restaurant.  The difference here is that restaurants serve a bottle, of variying quantity, with a glass for a price of about €2, this is being compared to in the U.S where it is approximately, and I'll be general here, free.  Even in Las Vegas, the middle of the desert, water is free, I'm pretty sure because H2O happens to be necessary to life itself (H2O the liquid, not the show, I'm pretty sure that the show actually reduces life expectancy by inundating the brain with stupidness and shutting down mental capacity).  Never the less Spain charges for its drinks, and it's not like there is a shortage, it rained 28 of the thirty days in November.  In any case the high drink prices actually make a large number of people eat their meals without any form of liquid, something I'm having trouble adjusting to.

Well they usually don't drink water is what I should say.  Water and soda they seem to be pretty shy about, and fruit drinks, yeah fruit drinks.  They tend to avoid almost any liquid when eating out, well except for one.   I think it would be correct to say that the beverage of choice in this city could be properly described as: Anything that contains alcohol.  My host family does not follow these guide lines but on the whole I would say that anything a Spainyard is doing, from relaxing after work, to taking their child out for a walk, they will almost always have some booze.  But, if by some freak of nature they are not drinking, they will be smoking.  Again my family is the exception but if any stranger asks another for a light or a cigarette they will usually be met with success.  Now I'm not going to argue that smoking is not extremely dangerous, but before you judge these people think of the number of obese and overweight people in the United States.  Many people have vices, and it is not for me to judge someone for a life style choice that they might regret and wish they could change.  Let that deepness sink in for a moment.  Okay you can continue.  The smoke gets annoying in restaurants and bars because it is not banned in public places but after a while I've gotten used to the smell.  All in all I'm enjoying my life in the city and I think that after a few months living here I've adjusted fairly well.  I could see myself living in NYC or Toronto or Philidalphia after this year, although I might miss the sight of Iberian ham.

Weekend Surprises

Street entertainment is a common occurrence in cities but for me coming from the suburbs the street acts up and down 'Boulevard' are a constant source of wonder.  I can walk a few blocks from my front door and come across free entertainment just presenting itself for my enjoyment.  Here is a short description of a few sights I have come across.

First is the classic human statue.  They will do a little something for you if you pay them just a few cents.  I made the guy below dance for €.15, that is, less than a quarter.  I would have paid him more if I could have hired him to follow me around and chase random people on the street.

If only Ripley had known Spanish

I have only seen the alien one time since arriving here, and that was during a Halloween celebration.  Of course, accordingly with Spanish Logic, the Halloween party was held on November 5th, close enough right?  One popular statue person here is a woman that looks kind of like the Statue of Liberty.  She's out every weekend, posing for pictures, and giving little waves, and doing other things that statues aren't supposed to do.  She is probably doing not bad, her only competition is Mr. Poseidon, and from what I've seen he never passed statue school.  The Ruler of the Seas is out on the bridge some weekends, a solid location with a healthy amount of foot traffic.  I pass him going to and coming from the beach, and 90% of the times I've seen him he has been smoking a cigarette (as far as I know they're cigarettes).  After all that time smoking he needs a break once and a while, so the remaining 10% of his time is spent taking a lunch break.  Mr. Poseidon man could take a lesson or two from the Statue of Liberty.

Men and women frozen in place are not the only attractions trying to earn loose change.  There are a number a bands and musicians that jockey for location in an effort to draw large crowds.  Coming from the suburbs street music is a nice change of pace for me, but there are no instruments that I would call 'Traditional Spanish.'  There are some violinists, drum bands, trumpeters, and that one guy who owns an accordion for some reason.  I've heard great accordion players in my life, I define great accordion is anything that doesn't make my ears bleed, and I can say that this guy either had a horrible selection in music, or he just doesn't give a crap.  But he is a confident old guy, and I admire his singing of nonsense words, daring the world not to put a few Euros in his hat.  Drum bands have the largest crowds because they are the loudest.  Sort of how political talk shows and radio stations works, whoever screams the most is the winner.  If you're thinking that I said the same thing about how little kids think, you are right, and I stand by that, they are all the same.  But despite the drum bands having the most clout I like to linger around the string instruments.  These are usually composed of one or two people playing with background music set by a tape player.  They do not inhabit the main streets or bridges, but rather park benches and book stores.  I can not help but stop and listen and remember when Leonardo Di Caprio sacrificed himself to save that red headed girl who's name I can never care to remember.  Spoiler alert the ship is not really unsinkable.

Last but certainly not least are the uncatorizable surprises that pop up out of no where.  I enjoy them because I'm a twisted human being.  If I lacked a sense of humor I might find something inappropriate about the picture below.

"Trust me guys, he's scarier without pants."

I just want to know who authorized it.  I admit, it is terrifying, but not for the right reasons.  Who decides that a pantless vampire is somehow better than a fully dressed one?  There is a part of me that wanted to ride through his legs.  I just want to know who allowed the creation of this monster, I mean it entertained me, but I think it was for the wrong reasons.  The girl in the photo is of no relation to me, a man near by was giving me strange looks because I looked like I was taking a creeper photo of his little girl.  He apparently understands that sometimes the giant inflatable vampires are just too tired to put on pants in the morning so could not understand why I would take a picture of this beautiful weekend surprise.

Spanish logic

People make rash decisions without thinking, that's just a fact.  But if something is done habitually, or with considerable forethought there is usually some form of thought process that went into the choice no matter how misguided the information was.  Sometimes logic is so terribly wrong that I just wish my face would melt off, this can happen if I am forced to babysit a whiney child, or listen to a Joe Liberman  interview (I admit, I sometimes listen to quotes of his just to make myself feel better).  But no matter what blather I'm hearing there is always some form of explination, like a child screaming for candy, or a man selling out his beliefs for a paycheck.  Sure it gets annoying, but in the end there is a desire or requirement behind the action.  But I'm coming to find that logic is not universal.  Spain operates on a different standard.  Sure they function on some of the same factors of desire and necessity as the United States, but there is another player in the decision making process here.  And I can only describe that player like this.  Meh.  The incomprable idea of laziness and/or impatience to make decisions is present in the United States but here it is a way of life.  Many prime examples of this exist in my day to day existence.

Walking down streets on the weekend presents a multitude of examples of Spanish logic.  There is, of course, men taking a whiz on the sidewalk aiming towards buildings, because the bathroom is just too darn inconvenient.  In addition to not having enough places to relieve themselves Spaniards need more places to drive their cars.  Just like revealing the one eyed trouser snake (Scientific name) in public is illegal so is double parking... well unless it's just going to take a minute.  Cars are routinely left in the center of one lane roads while the owner goes inside to a local store to grab a bite to eat or quick beer, because what's conducting a two ton automobile without a little fermented fun juice in your blood vessels?  The only people who can pass these impromptu road blocks are the ones on mopeds, and here they are everywhere.  Motorcycles and scooters provide a mobility and gas effciency that would make the logic of owning one brilliant, but again the Spanish can't wait even with those vehicals.  When roads get too crowded mopeds hop up onto the sidewalk and drive a couple hundred yards till they can return to the road, or reach their destination.  But no matter what vehical someone is driving, if they are in Spain, the red light is viewed as more a recommendation than an actual rule.  Because for a few seconds when the green light goes off for one lane everyone has a red light, so that means no one would be driving, so here they take advantage of that fact by continuing to drive.  I see no potential problems with that, unless of course people going different directions have the same logic.  I have only been in a car four times since arriving here, and for that I am glad.

After the weekend I'm waiting outside in forty degree (Farenheit) weather wearing shorts and a t-shirt.  If I had known I would be out in the cold for more than thirty seconds I might have worn a jacket, but I was going to school, so being outside for half an hour was not part of my itinerary.  I am, in fact, just outside the school's doors along with the entire rest of the shouting, crying, sleeping population of the student body.  Not everyone is locked out of the school, on the contrary, some people are locked in the school.  Students come to the doors looking like they have somehow gotten lost and spent the night in their cubby and now simply want to breath some fresh air.  But they can't.  Nope, in a great insight the school desided that not only would no students be allowed into the building before eight thirty, but if they some how do get inside, that is where they are going to stay.  So we wait for a pair of men who arrive at eight thirty to unlock the double door, but now that it's open it should stay open all day... at least it would according to logic.  Randomly throughout the day the doors are impassable.  Teachers probably just want a break from dealing with ungrateful adolecents all day, so once the annoying little explitives are outside the teachers want to keep them there.

On other days when dealing with students gets to be too much the teachers take a different course of action.  Rather than lock us out of the school, and out of their rooms, the professors decide that we can't annoy them if, they don't show up to work.  Sometimes all my  classmates and I are sitting in our classroom, waiting to start, for about twenty minutes, before we are informed that our teacher did not show up for that day and we have a free hour to do whatever we want.  No substitute no alternative class or assembly, we just chill or, better yet, leave.  Other days the teachers show up late which epitomizes Spanish logic, namely 'I'll get to it later.'  If something is supposed to start at 11:30, like my surf lessons (more on those later), then they will start anywere between 11:30 and 12:00.  Absolutly everything is run in a similar manner, except my host famliy.  They are half French and half Politician, and thus do not function fully under the system of Spanish logic.  They perfer events to start on time, and a regimented daily schdual, which is a shame, because I think I could really get used to Spanish logic.  I'd give some reasons why, but I think I'll just get to it later.

Entertainment value

The economic problems in the United States have been dire, and we all got to know about this because of the great source of information we call 'The Media.'  They have been willing to explain, in detail, every last horrible event that has happened to us, is happening to us, or has the slightest chance of possibly happening to us sometime in the future.  And most of the time they can do it with that great air or superiority.  "This is Richard Williams here with Channel eight news.  Today I'm interviewing people who lost all their money to a sadistic pyramid scheme.  Right now I'm here with Samantha Regents, she is one of those who has become poor and homeless after her savings were stolen.  Sure the scam was pretty easy to spot but these people just weren't smart enough to double check their sources.  They invested all their money without fully checking first where it was going and now they're poor.  Did I mention ugly?  Yeah ugly they're too...  Sam, anything to add, or do you need me to speak slower?"  Although I think the Media may exacerbate some of our problems.


So as I was saying before The Media cut me off; I think that the United States has a great potential to make money that we are not using.  This source of revenue is our entertainment industry.  In Spain I expected to see about half of everything on the T.V to be of American origin and then a healthy dose of Spanish originals.  This is not the case.  Almost everything I have seen or heard here has come from the shores on the other side of the Atlantic.  In addition they have also adopted our ability to make almost every commercial sexist.  If there is an ad featuring a sad woman, you can bet that a cleaning product will come around to make her happy, or at least a new innovation in cooking or child rearing.  If a male is present in a commercial, there is only one guarantee, after using the advertised products he will be much more appealing, sexually, to women.  Or it is a car commercial, the only up side is that they have yet to adopt our legal advertisements, I really don't need to hear again that I can sue the pants off a stranger because he rear ended me.  Now, on the actual show front, it's true that there are some original creations of the cinema and T.V programming here, but they are few and usually of poor quality.  For example there is a nationally revered film festival in my city, the San Sebastian film festival (points for creativity), where many movies of Spanish origin are aired.  Some local theaters adopted these films for the length of the film festival, and I was excited when my host brother and a couple friends invited me out to the movies one night.  I thought I was going to experience a Spanish work of art when we arrived at the theater and every movie it was showing was taken straight from the festival.  My host brother did not have the same sentiments.  I came to learn, from people checking the movies that were playing, that very few locals actually like the films brought in through their festival.  Our little group decided that rather than watch one of these low budget, preachy, handycam films we would go all the way across the city to watch "The American."

The situation is virtually the same when it comes to T.V series.  The Simpsons, Scrubs, American Dad, Spongebob, and other shows from America are the standard.  Besides news channels the only popular T.V program I have seen over here is a drama about Spain in the 1500's.  The name translates to "Red Eagle" and my host familiy here tapes every episode.  I will admit, the show has its moments, times when the characters are well depicted and the situation is either emotionally moving, or hilarious, but it would not stand next to American dramas.  But don't feel bad for Spain, they don't put nearly as much money into their entertainment industry: special effects pale, actors stumble, and plot lines have more budget friendly conflicts.  So this is why I say we should start a sort of reverse tariff, tax other countries if they want to use our entertainment, all the way down to websites.  I'm involved in a U.S based fantasy Basketball league here and the entire site is in English.  Sure I've never played a fake draft before or really watched games, but the NBA is more popular than the Spanish league even amongst the Spanish, the league isn't so much for me to learn the culture, but rather earn some man points.  Other ways to earn man points include getting females' phone number with all 7 digits and not using directions, ever.  These are not to be confused with d-bag points which are primarily earned through fist pumping.

So I say that since we've invested so much money in our entertainment industry we should charge the rest of the world to use it.  Every country is good at something and we have to embrace our skills, Germany has cars, Australia has surfboards, Japan has gameshows interspersed with truly demented and emotionally scarring horror movies, and we have the rest of entertainment.  If my plan is adopted by congress, as I assume it will be, I just ask that you wait about eight months to implement it, losing Scrubs would be a severe blow for my Spanish education (I know almost every episode and therefore the direct translation for all the lines).  When countries don't buy our shows we can always implement trade embargoes on other supplies, or if we're really REALLY serious, we could threaten a send over our lawyers and newscasters.  The country would be on its knees in a matter of days.

Camera

I wish I could my camera all the time.  Today for instance, I was just at the gym, thought I wouldn't need it.  But I work out at a gym with ninja's.  I don't mean to say these people are sneaky or have murderuos tendencies(because I'm not sure) I'm just saying they're ninjas.  Today a man walked in with a Naginata, in case you're unsure, it looks badass.  He sits down, and he starts on the rowing machine like he didn't just walk in with medieval japanese weapon.  I don't think this is the most effective weapon in a fight, it's not discreet and does not shoot bullets as far as I know, but it's probably damn good at making sure fights don't happen.  You don't mess with someone who looks like a warrior out of an Asian cartoon.

Don't make me go Anime on you

First picture in my blog, and I found it on the internet!  But I assume if you read this you are probably friends with me on Facebook and can see the pictures I put up there, I upload them approximatly, whenever I feel like it.  Although I will eventually get all my pictures up on Facebook at some point there will always be a great number of undocumented events I just forgot to bring my camera along for or tasks that my little powershot just can't handle. 

One  of the most annoying problems with my small picture taking device is that it likes to auto adjust to the lighting situation.  What this means is that even when the photo is meant to be dark the camera tries to make it appear light with either a flash or a shutter speed of a second or more.  So at night, or when I'm underground, all my pictures end up looking like a photo of the lock-ness monster because I can't use the flash on anything that's furthur away than a couple feet away.

But the main problem is that I'm just not patient enough to be a good photographer.  That's not to say I give up on something when it gets too hard, on the contrary if I can progress little by little I will devote hours to an activity.  But for me most great photos that aren't still lifes or landscapes require waiting in a location where it would be possible for a great picture to take place.  Nothing happens and nothing happens and nothing happens, and then BAM all of a sudden, nothing happens.  After about ten minutes I would give up, and as soon as I put away my camera there would be an amazing photo op that lasts for about three seconds.  I find photography very frustrating.  Like this one recent example, in San Sebastian the city is literally on the edge of the ocean, the only barrier is a break water and thirty foot high wall, but sometimes this is not enough to stop the water from getting over.  A few days ago I was out for a run during a day of high waves, about one in ten would splash over the wall and spray salt water in my face.  One wave was so large it sent a gyser forty feet in the air, well above the wall, and landed right on top of the only car on the road.  Since I don't live in an action movie he did not fly off the road and explode, instead he just turned on his wipers and continued driving, forces of nature be damned.

If there is great demand I will start posting some select photos on the blog, but if you want to see pictures that bad, you're better off using a search engine.  After all, Google doesn't miss the ninjas.

Prepared fresh and dairy products

My host dad likes to point out how healthy the Spanish way of life is compared to the American way of life.  I'm in total agreement with him but it gets annoying after the after the 2nd or 19th time hearing the same statement, especially since I consider myself in pretty good shape.  But there are some undeniable facts about the food and eating habits I've seen here that must contribute to Spain having less than half the obesity rate of the United States.  Now this actually isn't an amazing accomplishment considering 90% of the countries in the world have an excess chubby rate less than half of the United States because we are rated the Number 1 country in the world.  That's right, we win!  Let's run a Victory Lap to celebrate...oh. right...  Let's eat some Victory Hotdogs and drink Victory Beer.  Victory beer, almost as good as Freedom Beer and no fewer calories!

First I'm going to talk about the school.  Now last post I was pretty tough on the school, and I'm not done, but food is one place where they stand a clear mile above my high school back home.  The food is prepared in ovens and stoves here!  That last sentance may not seem so amazing to anyone who graduated from highschool ten or more years ago, but for the younger generation the staple "cooking" tools in a highschool are a microwave and a blender.  I used to bring my lunch in the United States, but here no one brings because there is absolutly no need.  Unlike the United States we can also watch our food through all stages of prepareation without losing our appetite.  If we were to have mashed potatoes here I bet the potatoes would be peeled, cooked, mashed, and seasoned.  If you have not been to high school in ten years you might be asking, 'Is there any other way to prepare mashed potatoes?'  Let me tell you how Fairport prepared their "Mashed Potatoes," they would open up a plain white plastic package, pour dry white flakes into blender, add water to blender, blend, put on hot plate, serve with equally questionable gravy.

About a week after arriving here the school served calamari.  Since I had been raised in a state that throws whatever cafateria food it can together as cheap as possible I was extremly suspicious.  Calamari in Fairport would have meant, meat product that turned out too chewy to be used even as sloppy joe.  After covering the fried squid in lemon juice (from an acutal piece of fruit) I cautiously took a single bite.  My standards were pretty low, but the calamari was good and I finished all that I had been served.  After the meal I was full but some kids were eating far longer than me and had almost three times as much food.  This is because of another great accomplishment made by my school in the field of nutrition.  There are no vending machines in the school, but you can purchase snacks from the dining room where they make small sandwhiches of nutella or ham or cheese, crazy european things like that.  Lunches are provided by the school, there is fresh bread, as much as you can eat, and you are allowed to request more of every entree.  Now at some point they do cut you off, but just the knowledge that seconds are free is a great feeling of freedom that I was unused to.  Besides just meals at school another part of Spanish culture I've been enjoying has been the dairy products, for the most part.

In the United States I did not enjoy cheese much outside of the highly salty 'American' or Chedder varieties.  I also shunned cheesecake in the United States, but not so much for the cheese part, more because tasted abnormally sweet, like pixie dust and unicorn blood, not like good old natural twinkes, grown right in America's gutters.  But here I have found a type of hard sheep cheese that I eat everytime it is brought to the table, but I believe that once I return to the U.S and my speical sheep dairy is gone I will return to my former, cheese neglecting, ways.  In addition when I return to the U.S I will start to guzzling milk again like it has a ridiculously fast experation date.  Because it does, in America, but here the milk is a mutant form that can sit out for weeks without any form of refrigeration.  There are of course many advantages to this.  Milk can be bought in bulk, saving trips to the supermarket.  It saves energy since milk can just sit in drawers or shelves and doesn't require industrial sized fridges.  It helps hobos get the proper amount of nutrition. It is a common sight in San Sebastian to see a pair of men sharing a liter box of milk thus ensureing them strong bones instead of hangovers.  However there is one major drawback to this liquid dairy product, it tastes like the demon spawn that it is.  I can eat it on my morning cereal, but drinking it straight up is nearly impossible.  It may have won the Spanish over with it's ease of use, but I hope that the FDA has some sort of flavor standards.  What kind of world would it be where children dip their cookies into luke warm mutant milk?  Certainly a world I want no part of.  I'd almost rather have all my meals provided via microwave... almost.

We don't need no education

Imagine an establishment of education like this: Around 1,000 students in the whole school, but only about 50 per grade.  With every grade represented along with a preschool option there is an age range of students is from 2 to 18.  Souds pretty weird right, maybe like a bad idea, perhaps something that should have been thought through.  There might be some minor conflits of interest in how to set up the school so each student gets the best possible experience when the kids range from toddlers to legal adults.  With no furthur ado I give you my private school in San Sebastian, and they have set up the school I so hastily described as a bad idea.  And now, after several months of attending the institution, I have decided I was right, the school could use some improvements.  Now I can't just lob all the blame onto the designers of the institution.  Running a private school (or any school for that matter) would not be an easy task in my mind.  Anything where kids need to be under control is an extreme hassle and anyone who has every babysat an obstinate child will know.  Smaller children need to be coddled and watched every moment of every day to make sure they don't decide on testing the flavor of glue or pointy metal objects.  As far as the child is concerned these would make excellent treats and if anyone tries to take them away that person deserves to be screamed and cried at until they pick the child up, at which point it is time for the child to vomit.  The same general stage continues for several years, but when verbal skills are aquired the much dreaded whining begins.  At the next stage in developement, from about 9 to 13, kids think they have enough worldly experience to converse with you on any issue, no matter how personal it may be.  The advice they give you is filled with youthful ignorant optimism and only deepens the rest of our cynicism because we know how wrong they are.  At this stage of development kids cannot imagine anything bad happening in the world unless they have experienced it directly, but their bubble of hope will be shattered.  Someday, usually a school day, somewhere, most likely on a bus, the child's hope will be forever shattered by a teenager who already knows how horrible the world is.  The child grows into a pessimist and realizes that authority is really an illusion and parents, much less teachers, have no real control over anything.  When the teenager hears a mere child talking about how great the world is he can't help himself but to destroy the fake world of the peaceful know nothing, it's a vicious, and very short, cycle.  The essential three stages a kid goes through can be reduced to: Anarchist, Carebear, Anarchist. Now if kids need be controled and educated that is a job I could never do, so I admire those who devote themselves to the profession.
I sit in Economía taking a test that I have not studied for.  I don't care and neither does the teacher we both know that grades here for me are just for laughs, which I'm sure she has a lot of reading my answers.  I will find out several days later that I did not even warrent a zero on the test.  While taking this particular exam I find myself continually distracted by noises coming from the window, they are coming from a playground.  The school's property is minimal so all the Fútbol fields, basketball courts, and play areas are situatied right next to the building where education is supposed to take place.  Just outside the window is the 4 and 5 year old playground.  Kids of that age have their own form of communication which is not based on any language, it is based on noise.  In particular how loud you are.  If you are the loudest, you are correct.  It does not matter what type of conversation is being had, there is always a winner when it comes to small children, even if they are just saying hello.  Then another conversation is needed to decide who was, in fact, the winner of the greeting, this results in yet another victory and more decibel intense exchanges.  The simplicity of the oral conversation belies the true power it holds, namely the power to drive any outsider crazy.  I could not imagine if this year actually mattered for me credits wise, I would never be able to concentrate with all the children outside apperently involved in deep conversations about the most important facts and ideas of recent history, I mean if their conversations were about something less important why would they be trying so hard to win them.  Remember the teacher you had who took everything seriously, well I have one here, she bases 10-20% of your grade on neatness.  This is an absurd demand especially since with the kids outside the window I can barely stay sane, let alone color inside the lines.
Parts of the school function as virtually an extended daycare while the older students are trying to prepare for college.  I'm not sure how the students in Segundo de Bachillerato (senior year students) are able to focus on the teacher, much less a piece of paper when Carebears are running the hallway and anarchists have overthrown the tyranny of 'quiet time.'  In addition there is very little choice in course selection because of the small class size.  So instead of getting all elective classes where everyone just slacks off I'm forced to take one of two preselected scheduals where some people are actually trying to learn.  And more often than not their learning gets in the way of my slacking off, they go to the front and inconsideratly explain math question to the class while I'm trying to read my crime novel.  And the school really isn't catering to my daily naps.
But you know, it could be worse. I could have taken an exchange year last year, then it would have counted for credit, and I would have had to do the homework instead of staring at it for a moment before deciding I don't understand.  So the school isn't that bad, provided I never have to learn anything there.

Key memories

I'm on the fifth floor of the apartment building.  Each morning my host siblings and I take the elevator down to walk to the school bus, but I have started taking the stairs when I'm by myself for the exercise.  Today I am  taking a walk, it's Saturday, and my host parents are gone for the weekend it is just me and my host brother holding down the fort.  I recognize rugs and flowers on each floor as I climb the stairs to my year long home.  One of the apartments on the fourth floor has an animal skin rug in front of their door, I can't indentify the animal but I feel uncomfortable walking over it's sad face.  I  silently judge the people who live behind that door everytime I pass by it.  I hold my keys in my hand, the building is always locked and the apartment auto locks so after unlocking the ground floor outside door I keep my keys out for the apartment.
Saturday is my day to take out Lesca, the family dog.  She is a german shepard and amazingly nice and obedient.  I wake up fairly early and say good bye to my host parents, they ask how the movie was that I saw the night before.  El red social, or The social network, is a movie about the creator a Facebook and all the problems he went through getting the website going.  I enjoyed it but all the characters spoke ridiculously fast and on complicated topics like copyrights and liability.  A lot went over my head and I think I'll have to watch it again when I get back to the U.S.  My host parents leave and I start reading "Sin Blanca en Paris y Londres," by George Orwell. In almost every sentace there is a word I have to look up and reading a page takes around a half hour.  It's a lot of work but recently has been getting better, at the start almost every other word would require flipping through English-Español translations and I found very little enjoyment in reading but devoted a great effort into the dictionary in the hopes I would learn the language quicker.  If I had worked this hard in school back in the U.S I might be going to Harvard or Yale next year, so maybe I'm learning better work effort over here, I blame my old high school for the lack of motivation they instilled in me.  I actually know what was different between my study efforts here versus my efforts back home and I can pinpoint exactly where Fairport went wrong motivation wise, pretty girls.  Yep, a 100 percent on a math test looks nice but it does nothing to make you more attractive to the opposite sex.  Here, if I don't study, girls write me off as a bumbling idiot and move on to someone else who has a vocabulary better than a seven year old.
After some studying I call my family on Skype for the first time in the month and 1/2 that I've been here.  We talk for about a half hour during which time my host brother leaves to go to a football match, he says he'll be back around nine.  The computer here has a camera but no microphone, so for a minute or so my parents and I play an international game of charades until they call me on my cell phone.  Since Alison is not home I promise to call them back later and hang up barely able to contain my excitment.  It seems so amazing to be able to see my house and hear my family when they are halfway around the world.  I grab Lesca's leash and hitch it up to her, my plan is to take her out then have some food and then surf the web, by that time I might be able to call my family again.  I only have about two hours to kill between 4:30 and 6:30 my time but I know it will feel like forever.  I'm trying to make a timeline in my mind when I close the door, suddenly the whole timeline falls apart.  Lesca goes to the elevator and I turn around towards the door, I push it and shake it back and forth. It's locked, I don't have a key.  To calm down I give myself a slap to the face and decide that someone probably has an extra key and I can just find them and talk to them.  With my new plan in line I head downstairs and out the front door.  I hit my face a second time, I'm now locked out of the building.  I take Lesca for a short walk and come back to the door, I start trying floors on the intercom.  Fifth floor, no answer; forth floor, no answer, ground floor, "Digame."  I take a breath and put on my pitiful voice.  I try to sound as lost and scared and humiliated as possible, "Soy un intercambio de los Estados Unidos.  Vivo con César y Sophie."  I stutter and sigh in a very believeable performance as lost, scared, child.  For those of you who are wondering, I have very little dignity, my honor means nothing if I'm stuck somewhere and will miss my family's call.  The door unlocks, I sounded pitiful enough.  I run up to the fifth floor and start checking under plants and mats in the hallway for an extra key, no luck.  My next plan is to find my host dad's body gaurds, I think one lives upstairs because I see him coming down everyday.  His apartment is empty, I go across the hall and knock to find a man who I have never seen before, the pitiful voice returns.  He directs me to the forth floor and the buildings owner, I stand on the animal skin waiting for the door to open.
It turns out two older folk own the building and have an apartment that was importated straight from American old-person sterotypes.  Plates are set up as art on the wall, shelves are full of glasses and silverware that have cleary never been used but are simply trophies old people take from one another when they win bingo or their other favorite game, compare our children and grandchildren, if you old parents or grandparents don't have a lot of pretty, but ultimately useless, table settings, you should start looking for a new job, after all the pride of your elder is at stake and they don't have any bingo talent.  There is also the sterotypical old people couch, decorative pillows and quilts are so abundant that sitting on it is impossible but they will invite for you to sit down, always.  I'm sitting on the couch and I get to know the pair through my increased Spanish vocabulary.  After about thirty minutes and some phone calls the man tells me that there is one more person who has a key, Maria. She is the house keeper and will be at the train station at 7:30 it is currently 7:00, so I have missed my family but there is another adventure waiting for me.  It takes me fifteen minutes on a leisurely bike ride to get to the train station.  I'm don't have a bike, and I am in charge of Lesca, and there are clocks all around the city counting down my time left.  This is every adventure movie I have ever seen, so I start off at a run, I have to get to the station before the orcs kill the king.  Lesca does not seem to understand the urgency of our mission, she gets distracted by other dogs on our run and chases after them forcing me to pull her back on the route.  She fails to understand the urgency of reaching the cure in time.  I feel fit and strong, I have been running 10k recently for exercise and the distance doesn't tire me out.  I reach the station with five minutes to spare, the movie ends anti climatically with a clear margin of victory.  I meet up with Maria and forget for a moment why I ran all the way to the train station, there were no Russians importing meth, why on earth would... oh yeah.  I take the keys and begin the long walk home.  I Skype with my family for an hour and César gets home at around ten.
When my host parents get back the next day I tell them the whole story.  They take it in good humor but when I tell them stuff like this always happens to me the mood changes.  They offer to buy me a keyring-necklace so I will always have them.  I refuse.  After all I would rather be running all around town with a dog than look like a person who wouldn't remember something as clearly necessary as keys.

Just another country

When I first saw San Sebastian on Google images I thought that there was no way I was so lucky.  If you have not seen my city yet Google it and then stare at the beaches for several minutes in jealous envy.  When you're done hating me for my luck, and your lack of plans to visit me in paradise, remember this, living here is just like anywhere else.  From family to school, it is all universal.
This past weekend was the long weekend known as Puente.  We ate junk food during the six hour car ride so that we could make it faster; the time in transit was largely spent sleeping or trying to sleep.  We arrive in the province of Tarragona on friday and the next day the extended family arrives in force.  Aunts, uncles, cousins, 2nd counsins, I don't even hear half the names and I remember less than a quarter.  I get some odd looks from family memebers who I'm not introduced to.  There is a huge comida de familia and the upwards of forty family members get together to eat and drink and get reaquainted with long lost relatives.  Fortunately I don't make too much of a fool of myself on the first day, I get through the family lunch without missing my mouth once.  That is a huge accomplishment for me considering we had chicken and I have an almost insatiable desire to eat that particular dish with my fingers and always end up catching it with my chin.  I just can't help myself, the chicken just begs to be eaten with one hand and smeared over the face (Grab skinny part with hand, shove fat part towards mouth, repeat, ignore broth spillage).  Over the course of the weekend I get to know another American who is staying with my host dad's brother's family.  We share stories about where we're from and crazy occurences with the family, such as when the grandma had taken a shower in the middle of the night and my fellow American ran into the eighty year old woman who was wearing nothing but the folds of her skin.  The weekend finishes with a family dinner to celebrate a birthday.  During the two hours of the dinner I find out for sure a fact which I had only previously guessed on.  My host mother is indeed, a self-joker.  I don't understand the conversation very well but I can tell everyone is having a great time and laughing together.  Almost everyone is contributing a small amount, but the conversation is dominated by one of the uncles.  I think everyone is okay with the uncle taking care of the speaking because he seems to enjoy it and is apparently very funny.  Then my host mom jumps in with her comment which she finds so funny she can barely get it out because of the fits of laughter she is in.  When the joke is finally told I can't understand what was said but I can tell it was awkward.  No one else builds off what she said, the conversation is instantly dead.  There is silence except for her labored breathing trying to refill her lungs so she can continue to laugh at her hilarity.  Over the course of the weekend some uncles get drunk and some barely talk, some cousins play and some cry, this family is just like any other.
Back to San Sebastian for school the next day.  I am sitting in Geografía reading a Spanish to English dictionary (As if my brain doesn't hurt enough already.  The teacher comes around to look at homework, I thought Spain was more laid back but everystudent has their HW everyday, it truly amazes me.  She gets to me and I take out the labled map of the European union.  She looks at it for a moment, from what I can understand she says my handwriting is garbage, which is understandable, teachers said the same thing in the States.  I  expect she'll ask me to clean it up for next time, and I won't because the map is for my benefit anyways and if I can read the writing who cares.  Apparently she cares, the teacher retrives another blank map and puts it in front of me.  She wants it redone with color.  Again I flashback to the U.S, I thought I was done with coloring assignments when I got past elementary school, and then when I finished Middle school, and when I graduated I thought for sure I must be done with crayons and colored pencils.  I look her in the eyes, she isn't joking.  Why the hell would I do a coloring project when this year doesn't matter for me and I won't learn anything from it?  I sit at home at a desk coloring my map.  It looks better and neater, maybe a normal person could read it, I still think it looks like crap.  I could spend more time forming each letter and filling in the white with color, it could look like an acutal map, I have seen kids who have outlines of the countires in dark shades and filled them in with lighter ones.  I could spend an hour and make my map look near perfect.  But when has color been important, "I'm sorry Mister Obama, we like all the policies and investments, but couldn't you have added a little flair... clip art, color, anything."  I could do something that matters more than make my European Union look beautiful, like write my blog, watch the news, study Spanish, drink out of the toilet, read a book, zone out and stare at a plain surface while my mind goes blank, drop something on my toes. Anything.  

I'm proud of the map I end up making but I shouldn't be, there has to be a better way to learn than coloring, but I like the way my map looks.  A long weekend with the family and a day at school were all it took to remind that I really haven't moved that far from Rochester.  People are the same, they are universal, self-jokers and teachers with coloring assignments are universal.  The only thing that's really changed, that I really need to learn, is a language.  So on that note I leave you, I have to go lap up toilet water.

A little strange

Kids here roam the streets freely.  They don't have the fears that have built up in the United States with all the violence and kidnappings present in cities.  Five and six year olds wander the sidewalks and create games to entertain themselves, they kick around soccer balls and run races with no authority figure in sight.  One of my favorite games I have seen so far involves golf clubs a tennis ball and a goal constructed with garbage cans.  The kids whack the ball, hockey style, with the golf clubs toward the goal which is invariably gaurded by the smallest child.  Of course this is played on the sidewalk and street and the clubs sometimes hit the ground with a surprising force.  I like to call the game "Don't let dad find out," and I bet it is usually followed by a rousing round of "Hide the Evidence."  The kids I know better are no less strange.
My host sister reminds me in some ways of my sister at home, and in other ways not so much.  Both my sisters are easily amused and by simply making funny noises I can send them both into laughing fits.  Both my sisters pout and whine from time to time.  At home it was not so bad with the strictly enforced anti-whining rule my mom created.  The noise of high pitched complaints just seemed to push a button in her, specifically the button that turned her evil.  My sister and I learned not to whine too often, my sister had more lapses in judgement than I did so she took the majority of my mom's venom but it was never bad.  In my new home there is no anti-whining rule and I can clearly see why my mom implemented one, I can barely understand the conversation my host parents are having with their daughter, but it's driving me insane.  I think my mom installed the same button in me because it takes all my restraint to not say "NO, NO, No Hacerlo! NO Grima!"  My sister here is also much more eccentric  than my sister back home.  I'm not saying that my real sister isn't strange, she plays with her dolls by holding them at arms length and then has what I can only describe as an imagination seizure.  We watch her shaking and holding her doll, but we have no real idea what's going on.  My sister here prefers to have fun by sneaking out of her room dressed as bat man and hiding somewhere in the apartment.  She then spys on the family, myself included, from the most obvious hiding places.  I'm not sure why she has to be in disguise to spy on us but I play along, it's fun sometimes.  Ninty percent of the time I love both my sisters, but I cannot take whining.
School has to be one of the strangest changes, specifically what they find funny.  I mean the jokes are still along the same lines, namely straight guys (presumably) pretending to be gay, but they are on a whole different level.  Three or four guys will gang up on this one guy who's from Morocco.  They drag him onto a table, pull his shirt up, and start tickling him.  He laughs like crazy and tries to push them away but there are too many.  I can't help myself from laughing the first time but there is some value in it I just can't see that the other guys all seem to get.  Somehow I think this might be the cutting edge of teenage male humor and I'm just too old fashioned.  My host brother doesn't get involved either, we don't hang out much in school, but on the weekends we hang out sometimes.
This past weekend I was body surfing with my host brother.  The waves were monstrous and crashed all at once, catching them was nearly impossible and in the hour we spent there I never got one.  What did happen was I got thrown over and around by a series of really bad waves.  For body surfing we have to wear flippers otherwise it is impossible to move around in the water.  I hate flippers, because when close enough into land to touch you still can't walk, so I am only up to my chest in water but I can't get in any further because of my damn flippers.  Another wave breaks over me and pulls the board out of my hands, fortunately the board is attached to my hand, unfortunately it's on my right arm.  The same arm that I have dislocated twice, I'm face down underwater and I feel the joint pulling.  I know what's about to happen and I can't stop it because my board is still being pulled away by the wave.  My arm separates and hangs in front of  me, it does not hurt as much as other times, but that is probably because I'm numbed by the cold water.  I'm still holding my breath, my feet hurt from the cheap plastic flippers, I can't swim with my arm.  I am not very concerned with drowning for the fifteen seconds that my arm is dislocated and I don't know why not.  To end the terrible suspense I will say that I did not drown.  I was able to relocate my shoulder with the help of my left arm.  Now I start the annoying process of rebuilding the muscle that was destroyed, but that won't stop me from enjoying this city, this country, this year.  I'm going to do what I feel like, and my body is going to have to deal with it, but first I'm going to burn those flippers.

Fitness

In San Sebastían there are normally three paths for major streets.  One for people who are walking, another for people who are biking or jogging, and of course the road for people insane enough to drive in Europe.  I have been in cars here but I would never drive because the roadways are too wild.  Also I can't drive stick and there are almost zero automatics here, but mostly because of some insane driving tactics I've seen.  A week ago on my bus drive to Madrid we were sitting at a red light and an old man began to cross in front of us.  The light turned green but the old man was slow getting across the road so in order to help him along the bus driver decided it was a good idea to ease onto the gas and give the man a little nudge.  I freaked out along with the rest of the front two rows and the old man started shaking his cane at the bus driver the rest of the way across.  Same bus ride a few hours later we are maneuvering through some smaller streets, there are parked cars on both sides and barely enough room to sneak through.  Our bus driver gets stuck but has another brilliant idea, we can back up, so he does, right into a parked car.  Everyone on the bus hears the crunch of metal and glass, we look to see the damage but we are too close to see anything.  A coffee shop begins to empty as people come to see what caused the noise and from their faces I can tell that it is bad.  So in another moment of rapid thought the bus driver guns it and we pull away hoping that no one caught our liscense plate.  So I've decided to take my chance with pick pockets on the sidewalk, as long as I don't have to worry about bus drivers.
The biking and walking paths are fantastic: spacious, well maintained, and almost everyone is considerate enough to pee onto small patches of grass besides the sidewalk.  I'm told public urination is strictly illegal, but the reality looks like it is illegal if it is noon and you're sober, otherwise go for it.  On Fridays and Saturdays the bushes are packed from midnight to three in the morning, I guess the bathrooms are just to stuffy, real freedom is the feeling you get from looking up at the stars and relieving yourself all over your passed out buddy.  Outside might be a better option for those who have been drinking, I mean they're going to miss their target if it is something as small as a toilet bowl, and that only makes it more difficult for the sober ones.  So I say we get the indoor bathrooms and the drunks can go where ever they want, as long as I don't have to walk through it.  And normally I don't, everyone pretty much obeys the rule of pee away from innoncent bystanders, so the walking and running is fantastic.  I have a 10 km path that goes around a mountain, in front of the city, and past all three beaches.  I have taken this path about four times in three weeks and it feels fantastic, I can't make the full distance at a continuous run but I'm getting closer.  The three beaches are a must for anyone planning to run long distance, the women (and men, for my female runners) on the beaches are gorgeous and help you forget the burning sensation in your legs.  My host mom does the same run I do about twice a week, and she usually does it in less time.  She goes mornings and I do afternoons so we never meet up, but she is faster, but what do I care, I have other ways to stay in shape, I can't just be running all the time.
Another way I've been keeping in shape has been tricking on the beach.  The sand is a little harder to take off from because it isn't as hard as dirt but it's soft to land on so I don't have any complaints.  The only problem I've been having is the lack of privacy on these darn public beaches.  When you are able to do a flip or other tricks it looks amazingly cool, but when learning flips, kicks, and other jumps it looks like you have a severe mental disorder.  I don't know how my failed attempts look but I do know that if I had landed on my feet I would not have so much sand in my bathing suit at the end of my practices.  So when I'm surrounded by people who I have never met, lying on my back, covered in wet sand, a normal person would get a little self concious but I'm not normal.  Instead I love the attention and the people trying to emulate me.  Of course there are other people who are also practicing gymnastics or martial arts or whatever on the beaches but I have a very logical system of dealing with them in an egotistical way that keeps me happy.  If they are better than me then they are jerks showing off and should be practicing some where else, but if they're worse then I have inspired them to try and do what I'm doing because of how good I look.
Another place I've found is a gym with a good work out room, not as exciting as the others, but important none the less.  The only problem is that it is in a martial arts center and is used as their hangout.  This creates trouble for me because first, they are all pumped up, adreneline high, potential agressive individuals, the second problem is, they are all a lot stronger than I am.  The only attention I get in the gym is when the muscle bums make fun of me in Spanish behind my back.  I have never seem them doing it but I know it happens.  I doubt the jokes are very good because these guys' brains can't be working to well in the first place, "This heavy object looks like it needs to be lifted then put back down in the exact same place."  These guys could be down practicing Judo or karate to build their muscle mass if there weren't all these heavy objects to be lifted, plus they have to make fun of me.  I'm not paranoid or anything, but when I walk in I know they change the subject and avert their glances, but they talk I'm telling you, "Look at skinny American boy, he look like he have not to be working out very often, jajajaja".  Their brains get very little blood.  But also in the gym are my host father and brother both do Judo.  They are both black belts and my brother also plays on a soccer team some days after school!  I can't believe how physically fit this family, not to mention the country, is.  I'm used to being one of the most fit people around, but I guess that's all relative, I'll feel better about myself when I move back to the U.S, for now there are heavy objects to be lifted.

Rotary Weekend

My host dad is a politician I forget this from time to time because he is always arrives home late and I never see him go to work in the morning.  Yesterday I saw one of his body gaurds on the staircase, I was waiting for the elevator and he said hola, I watched him pass a potted plant and he bent down to touch it.  I'm still not sure if he was feeling to see if it was real or searching for a bomb, you never know.  However, this weekend my host dad is driving me to the bus station because I have a seven hour bus trip from San Sebastian to Madrid.  His security meets us on the street, takes my bag, and we get into the car while they drive.  My host dad asks the gaurds about how their families are and all that, they seem to be up to date on each other.  He seems like one of the good politicians, like Harvey Dent before he was turned into Two-Face, a good guy who wants to do some good in the world.  That only makes me more worried on the car ride, I mean a kind, uncorruptable politician probably makes enemies out of dangerous people, I fully expect a James Bond style car chase followed by a firefight with amazing special effects and a hand to hand combat scene with a least one stunt that involves a man fall off a building.  I arrive at the bus station no problem.  The most interesting part of my journey with him is choosing out a sandwhich for the long bus ride.  I end up getting cheese because the others types would have taken too long.  I thought the only person in the world to eat cheese sandwhiches was my sister, they are nasty things to smell and I hate arriving home when Alison has prepared one in the microwave.  I hope mine is slightly different than the ones she makes and am plesantly surprised.  The food turns out to be great and I'm content on the bus ride over, the only problem is that I don't know what to do once I arrive in Madrid. 
The bus station is underground and when I get up to the surface I have no idea where I'm going.  The biggest city in Spain and I don't even know whether to go left or right.  I walk in a random direction in search of Rotary blazers.  I get up to an intersection on Avienda America and decide I would rather not leave the street.  Random search is not going to work, why not be practical, there is a lookout on top of the bus station so I head there to see if I recognize anything, but why would I in a place that I´ve never been and don't know what I'm looking for.  Good idea, bad timing.  On top of the building was one of the few places I would not be able to find the rotary youth exchange.  I walk down the stairs on the other side and past a line of kids my age, speaking english, and wearing blue sports coats.  It feels funny to speak English at a normal speed but I think that now I can sit back and wait for Rotary to take over.  One of my thoughts was right, all of us spent hours of the weekend waiting, Rotary never took over.
After another three hour bus ride to a local college boys and girls are separated, they go to one door and we are sent to another door on the same building.  They are both locked and we are permitted to stare awkwardly at one another until someone suggests that we check the front, it might be unlocked.  What an inovator.  In the front we are told we can not come in that way and must return to wait for Rotary.  After a few hours we are found by some actual Rotarians and are ordered across the lawn where we are assigned rooms.  All the instructions are in English because literally everyone speaks it.  Once we know are room numbers we are allowed to continue to stand around with our suitcases and make friends for another few hours.  The sun starts going down.  We continue to wait and finally a person who appears to have some sort of authority demands we all shut up and organizes us into a mob. Once formed up she starts calling names and telling people to stand behind her, once about every three people she says "You don't have a room" then continues with the list.  I am told that I, in fact, do have a room even though I have yet to see it.  Once everyone's name is called the group splits, all the girls and half the guys go to one building, and I wait in the darkness with seven other guys for directions.  No one knows where we are going so we wait some more.  Us remaining men hang our heads and try to look pitiful in an attempt to get some attention and a place to sleep because the grass is beginning to look incredibly comfortable.
We do eventually get our rooms and get some food before heading off to bed at 11 o'clock, the designated curfew that is enforced rather quickly.  We are told tomorrow we will see the city.  This is a lie.  I have not seen any of Madrid past the university and Avienda American, we are kept on campus all weekend.  There is none of the traditional pin exchange, speech making, or talent shows that usually come with these Rotary meetings.  And from the outside it would seem like the weekend was a huge disappointment, but really it was not half bad.  Youth exchangers and Rotarians are some of the nicest people you will ever meet and deep friendships were formed in the space of a few hours. Rotarians give all the usual lectures with some added information like this one man who described why fish are served with the head on.  Apparently it is much easier to tell a fish's freshness if it has a head.  I'm still not sure how this works, I have never looked at a fish head and gleaned any valuable information from it except that, if anything, the eyes are always surprised and when they realize that the worm was a trap it's too late.  And on a quick side note, why worms for fish?  Think about it.
The only part of Madrid I see is a college, an airport, a bus station and buildings from the bus window.  But I met some great people and shared more than I had in three weeks of living here, so would I go again if I had the chance to do the exact same thing?  I could call everyone I met and we could meet... anywhere but the college campus.  Find our own rooms and own meals, it might be expensive but we're in Madrid, we can do anything.  Sorry Rotary, I do love you, but somehow I felt like that there were missed oppurtunities when we were staying ten miles from the largest city in Spain and all we could do was imagine what it would be like to let our feet carry us where they may around Madrid.

Weekend, Rotary meeting

Saturday night, out of the house with my host brother at 11:30, walk down the boardwalk, look for friends, no friends, return, go to sleep 11:55.  So maybe the first weekend here was not the all night techno dance party I imagined happening all the time in Spain.  But the view of the city at night was amazing.  I was just happy to see the shore line and the island in the middle of the Concha Bay illuminated by street lamps which looked like they had to have been lit in a Harry Potter like fashion by Dumbledore (Spoiler Alert) R.I.P.  I have upwards of 40 weekends here so I don´t consider it any loss that there was no clubbing during this particular weekend.  There will be a story later of some crazy Spanish dance night I´m sure.  I hear they don´t grind which is a huge relief because I could never really get the hang of it, here´s my impression of grinding: Girls are dancing by themselves, Guy asks girl to dance, Girl says okay and continues to dance as if alone, Guy locks on behind her like parasitic organism, two options at this point, 1 Guy looks around awkwardly, 2 Guy watches girl in an apparent effort to remove her clothes with his eyeballs.
The week of school was normal.  I pretended I knew what was going on while kids took notes around me.  I am understanding a few more words and tenses than I did at first but I´m not Rainman so it will take more than a few weeks for full understanding. Some teachers have noticed that my knowledgable visage is actually a blank stare and have asked me to bring things to do during class.  I have been bringing ¡Pesadillas! how exciting does that sound, really really exciting, because it´s in Spanish.  It is written by R. L. Stine.  For those of you who haven´t figured it out I am, indeed, reading a Spanish translation of Goosebumps!  I can understand most of the words and can make out what the overall story is saying.  I used to read these books all the time but haven´t seen one in a while, I am remembering why I loved these books in the first place, and the reason why I loved these books is because I was about eight when I read them.  The plot line is a little below my level at this point, but the reading level is a little high.  I can´t think of a solution but to figure out if the kids end up being invisible forever and then move on and see how they deal with Monster Blood in the Spanish version, I´m hoping for an alternate ending.
My teachers say they will have special assignments for me next week that are more my level.  This sounds like a gip, having to do something where once I could do nothing, but really I´m pumped.  I don´t know how lazy people do it, sitting and vegetating is so boring I just don´t have the mental prowess to take on that task for hours a day.  Unfortunatley that is what the Rotary meeting was for me.  The district president introduced a woman who was going to talk about the history of Europe and Philosophers.  To say it went over my head is an understatment, the only words I understood were Socrotes, Platon, and Aristotoles (Who knew they had different names in Spain).  I tried to calculate how long it would take her to finish based on where she was in history and how fast she was going.  That never works, the person always gets caught up on one subject and it drags on forever.  For her it was the philosophers, going into the 22nd hour of her philosopher segment my host dad wrote a note and passed it to my host mom.  That brougt up my spirits considerably, I wasn´t the only bored one!  Three days later and it´s finally time for questions.  The first man raises his hand and I recognize a few words.  How could he?!?  It was something to do with Socrotes, I see the glint in the woman´s eyes she is ready to answer this question in full.  Several hours later the meeting finishes and I walk out with my host parents.  When they start talking they discuss how interesting the woman´s speech was and how well written, oh oh and how clear, wasn´t that just amazing, she really set that straight didn´t she!!!  Now I´m sad.  That note must have been one of praise.  Apparently I have just missed the most illuminating Spanish speech on history of this century, and I was in the room.  I swear that I will be able to understand a speech like that by the end of the year, because I can´t sit through something that boring again.

A little end note; I don´t have spellcheck here except in Spanish and I have to many things to do to bother re-reading each entry so pay no attention to minor misspellings.  I still have trouble because my pen doesn´t check what it spits out.

Week of firsts

Two days after I arrive in Spain I'm in school.  I was excited for school at first, meet new people learn new things, study a different culture.  It was only after I sat in the auditorium for a start of year meeting I began to remember, in order to make friends I have to intereact with strangers, interacting usually involves some form of verbal communication.  The meeting goes on for two hours, the person next to me tells me how the sweaty, bald, moustaciod man at the front loves to "hablar y hablar y hablar."  I quickly come up with a response representing the extent of my Spanish knowledge, I want whoever this boy is next to me to be my friend, so cautionsly I respond, "si."  Mission accomplished, the boy nods and returns to a semi sleeping state.  The auditorium gathering has taken up the first two classes, I will start the day with English, something that I might understand.  I find my friend from before and ask him, with broken Spanish, why we are in third period, he responds in broken English and motions for me to pull a desk up next to his.  Maybe I can help this guy in English, he seems nice enough and he might need it. I continue discussing what happened in the morning and what will happen during the day, the teacher appears to be getting organized at the front of the class and I don´t realize that the rest of the students are silent.  I thought the teacher would ask for us to be quiet when she was going to start.  Wrong.  "Would you mind shutting up?"  I freeze and look at the teacher like a deer in headlights, I cannot believe what I have just heard.  I face forward and shut up.  "Would you like to come to the front?"  First day, first class, and I get sent to the front of the room, not a great start.  During english the teacher talks for the full hour about how the scores that the students have been getting have been unacceptably low.  I think that maybe this teacher is just especially mean to focus on the test like that, in the U.S I resisted test specific classes as often as possible.  After class students go to their backpacks at the side of the room and grab food.  My friends explains that there is a 15 minute break everyday after third period so people have something to carry them through the day.  Then my friend, Marcos, starts talking to me rapid fire in Spanish.  I smile at him and try to pick up as much as I can, but as I am becoming increasingly aware of, I am just a dumb American.  He ends with a question, something about a type of music I think.  From what I´ve heard I think I like whatever he is talking about and say 'mucho, mucho.'  I am confident in my answer for a half second until he looks at me in a way like 'where the hell did you come from?'  It turns out that what I said wasn´t relavent to the conversation but the conversation was not even directed at me, he had been talking to a girl behind me.  Ouch.  My pride hurts.

The classes were all similar to English in the fact that they all focused on test results.  This makes me both sad and happy, sad because so much pressure is put on these students to do well, and happy because since I would be a liability I probably won´t have to take any tests.  After school my host brother, Cesar, asks me if I want to go body surfing.  Why not?  We get flippers, wet suits, and boards, within fifteen minutes we are off to the beach in our bare feet.  I have body surfed before, and on some fairly large waves, but while he was explaining what to do I realized I had never done anything like this.   
In the end I technically only surfed one wave, the rest crashed into me and rolled me around under water. But the wave I did catch I must have rode 40 or 50 feet, racing past swimmers, children, and people wading in the shallows. On top of the wave I felt weightless, it was amazing. When I landed on the beach I readjusted my flippers and stood up, I was on my feet for all of a half second before I crumpled to the ground clutching my cramped calf. I sat right back in the sand and began to massage my leg at which point another wave rolled on shore and knocked me on my back, while kids who were seven jumped straight into it with smilies on their faces, jerks. It took about fifteen minutes for me to get back out into the surf and when I was finally with my host brother again the waves began to fade away. We went home without catching anything else, but that one wave that lasted half a minute was worth the hour of waiting in the water.
This weeks seems like it has lasted a month.  The city is beautiful but concentrated, I don't know any stores or restaurants, but I know my way around.  I'm about to experience my first week end over seas, I have no idea what to expect, but somehow, hobbling around on my one crappy leg, I think I´ll be happy.

The arrival

I laugh in spite of myself.  Of course it was the shampoo, what else would it be.  There are streaks of light blue across my clothes and gifts.  The culprit is dead, zipped underneath the lid of my suitcase, its conditioning and hydrating blood fill the clear body bag that was supposed to keep the bottle safe.  My open suitcase looks like modern art, only better, I´m not knocking modern art (it doesn´t need my help just look at the piece entitled ¨Yellow Square¨ that sold for $35,000) but my creation has a backstory that is fun to those watching from a safe distance.
 I had been packing for about a week to make sure I brought everything I needed on my trip.  My clothing was laid out in a large suitcase.  Al the electronics I was going to bring were arranged in my satchel (Indian Jones has one).  The gifts were packed in my carry on, and all the extra necessities were on the dining room table.  It turned out that I did in fact have everything I needed but  the total weight of each bag was over the limit by several pounds.  This is where the shampoo comes in.  The bottle of head and shoulder weighs the most out of any individual item in my bags, coming in at a hefty three pounds.  There are some who might question the idea to bring any shampoo on a trip such as mine much less, three pounds worth.  My response to those questions is, "I know you are but what am I?"  So it´s clear I have to take the shampoo for some reason, but my options are running thin because my family only believes in the "Family size"  containers.  At last my sister finds an abandoned smaller bottle, but it is almost empty.  By now we have about fifteen minute before we leave for the airport.  Just as all hope seemed lost my mom decided that we fill up the small bottle halfway with the bigger bottle, once again demonstrating her wisdom and cool headed leadership that got her democratically elected as Mommy for life.
Jump ahead several hours past some last minute gifts from my family along with some tears (not my tears, because I´m a man, a big strong man), and I´m in transit somewhere over the atlantic.  My arms are wrapped around my stomach but in a discreet way, so no one else will know how sick I´m feeling.  I don´t know if it is my emotions, or the microwaveable airplane dinner that contained beef flavored meat product.  But somehow I think the idea of leaving all that I have grown up with for an unceratin year in a foreign country has upset my stomach (So maybe I´m not such a big strong man).  The plane lands in San Sebastian and I´m just hoping that I don´t vomit on the family when I see them.  The terminal is the smallest I have ever seen and I was on the only plane at the airport.  I open the first door to the room the with baggage carousels and through some glass doors I see three people whom I recognize from the pictures I received through email.  I studied the photos the night before so I did not make a bad impression, hug the wrong person, and have them thinking "Americans really are that strange."  My host mom, brother, and sister have huge smiles to match mine, and as soon as I embrace my host mother my stomach calms, and I´m relaxed.  I return the wrong way through a one way door to the baggage claim area beacause I had forgotten my checked luggage in my haste, however the bag doesn´t come around.  I finally see mybag on a talbe next to a customes official.  He asks me to open it up and I do so.  That is when I see the 2 in1, shampoo/conditionerblood bath.  And I laugh.  I don´t care.  Sure the underwear around the bottle now looks like whoever wears them has a terrible yet hilarious disease, but the the gifts are fine, and that´s all I care about.
My suitcase is now clean and I have given all my gifts to my host family,there was no significant damage besides washing suds off a frisbee.  My host mother threw out the shampoo and told me I could use theirs.  My first meal was at Mcdonalds, at which point my stomach again became angry with me, but we had to eat there because we were in a hurry for some reason, I still don´t know why.  The meals I have had since then have been fantastic and the view from the balcony looks out on the sea.  My fmaily is amazing, as all those that agree to host exchangee students are, but mine seems even better, which is great because this is the only one I´ll have for the next year (Not standard rotary practice, usually threee families are used).  I can look out at a beach from several windows while listening to Spongebob (Bob Esponja) in my new home, and I couldn´t care less that my hair doesn´t smell like head and shoulders.

Packing

I was starting to doubt the wisdom of emptying my dresser onto my bed.  At first it seemed like a great way to organize what I wanted to take, what I was going to leave, and what had somehow found shelter in the corners of my drawers.  The latter being my style from a couple years ago would be donated so the the poor could laugh at my former "Fashion sense" then burn the fabric for warmth.  All this had been sitting where I normally sleep.  It was there for two days and never showed any intent of packing itself.  The couch has proven a comfortable substitute but with only a week left in the states I decided that my clothes were lazy and would not be ready in time.  Today my bed is empty after a half hour of decided what would stay and what would go.

In high school Spain was a year away and seemed like a distant commitment that I didn't need to worry about like the apocalypse or a doctors appointment.  I could make plans to make my transition easier then never had to follow through with them, the rationale being "I have plenty of time."  I don't have plenty of time, in fact I am about to power through Spanish 202 in six days.  Now this would seem impossible to most people, but I'm not most people, I am a champ of Bullshit.  I can look over a lesson, get the general gist, then make up the specifics as I go along, if whatever I make up is wrong I can claim that I'm using Spanish from a different part of the world and you a clearly not as cultured as I am for not understanding that.  Unfortunately being so well versed in the subject of BS makes it impossible to listen to it from anyone else.  This hurt me in school, when I tried to replace to teachers made up information with my own I lost points, but I refuse to stand down because, after all, I am an expert.

My room has been emptied of my clothes and my head has been filled with Spanish.  It is not light work deciding how I want to be seen in a foreign country.  I have to worry about every White American stereotype ever conceived.  I can't be fat or aggressive or arrogant or ignorant.  Perhaps BS is not the best way to got in Europe, people in the United States love it, but Europeans tend to be better informed according to a fact I just made up.  So I have to appear as if I have no preference or dislike to anything around me.  If I tell positive stories about the US then the older generations think I am closed minded and unwilling to try new things.  If I adore everything around me the young generation sees me as a typical tourist weenie.  Thus I have been working on a contemplative nod, the perfect medium between willingness to participate, but to cool to really care if I do or not.

I'm feeling one more step to being prepared, with all the clothes I like ready to go.  My wardrobe available for the next few days consists of  two pairs of shorts, twenty pairs of underwear(The Christmas gift you can give your children every year!), and whatever shirts I steal from my dad.  Y ahora yo will be prcaticaring un poco del espanol, Ariba! Idios Mio! Madrid, Sangria, Soccer futbol!

Waiting

My inbox is still empty.  Now maybe I have received an e-mail in the past couple seconds from the Bokoff-Kaplan agency, but somehow I doubt it.  I try to distract myself as best I can, but whenever I have some downtime somehow my inbox is open again, and I'm left staring at the twenty livemocha.com messages I have not read.  I will close my Gmail account without reading them.

The e-mail I am waiting for will tell me the exact date and time I will leave this country.  It should also give me the date and time I will return here, ten to twelve months after my departure.  I am a Rotary youth exchange student, I will be living in San Sebastian, Spain for the upcoming school year, and if everything goes well, for some of next summer.  Although I have already finished high school I will be completing another senior year in Spain (2ndo de bachillerato).  I will not get any college credit for next year, but I don't mind.  And although I will spend another year in school, I'm glad it is not the American version of it.  When I was in high school I did not think very highly of the institution, I though it stifled creativity, was intellectually imprisioning, and broke tender spirits, not that I am bitter or anything.  I was sure that almost everyone else was going to the parties that I had seen in movies, where a DJ blasted music to colored strobe lights and 89 percent of the girls looked like Meghan Fox.  I don’t know where these females would have come from, but I expected that they were like werewolves; girls that were shy and intellectual in school, who mutated when they entered a party, to resemble all my favorite actresses and celebrities.   Now I understand that this was most likely not the case, and many of the other kids were like me, but I cannot help my continued weariness of American high school.  I would like to take this moment to wish my sister all the best next year, she will be in ninth grade.

I am supposed to leave the first week of September, and that is why I check my e-mail so often.  I am not yet sure when I leave, the travel agency that works with Rotary has been fantastic, but the waiting is painful.  I like to think of myself as a pretty calm guy (which is most likely wishful thinking), and when something is out of my control I can let it sit.  But when my host club, my outbound club, my country officer, and (the most stressful) my mom, are desperate for the information that I don't have it unsettles me. I know that brooding over something out of a person's control can make them insane, so my distractions are many and varied.  First, my online language teaching community, livemocha.com, I have been working from Spanish 101 through 202.  I don’t want to look like another “dumb American” when I arrive in Spain.  If anyone out there is looking to get some fundamentals down in just a few weeks get on livemocha.com, it is significantly freer than other learning methods, and in my opinion, better.  The people learning on that site are from all over the world, and they all help each other out.  I am graded by native Spanish speakers, and get a chance to teach some English.  When my mind is worn out, I turn to my body for a distraction.  Recently I have been pushing my physical limits with an activity called "tricking."  My front flip is looking pretty nice, and I have been working on Aerials.  There are an amazing number of videos on Youtube teaching just about anything, but I do wish I had some gymnastics training.  I have been writing fiction for some years, but this summer I stepped up how much work it put into it.  I am not going to show the fiction to anyone anytime soon, but it keeps me entertained.  I know there is a large amount of people who would love to read my writing, so I had to do something else.  I have created this blog so that my mass of followers (many of them imaginary, some other ones made up) can be entertained by my adventures next year.  Maybe my mom will read this too.

I wish I had discovered the art of distraction years ago, and then the high school summers might not have been so wasted.  I can only remember wondering if there was a way I could get out of going back to school.  So I am challenging myself in every way I know to try and make the time pass.  I think I'm going to go check my e-mail.