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.