Apartment Hunting Abroad: a guide

So enough about the locura that was my final weeks in the Bilbao apartment. After all, yes, it was difficult and weird and overwhelming, but the things that stand out when I look back? My pastor going far, far out of his way to help me know my rights and get me out of there. My friend Bryan who let me crash on his couch for that last week. Ismene (one of the original, awesome roommates) taking me out for a relaxation drive, then protecting me when Ione started calling everyone she knew I knew to try and hunt me down. Everyone else who sought me out, cheered me up and reminded me that the good far outweighed the bad in that last week.

And the lessons, those "hindsight is 20/20" things that I would have liked to have known going into renting abroad. So, if you're looking to rent abroad, or you might someday, or you know someone who is, this is for you.


1. Red flag: you aren't offered a contract to sign. If you aren't on a contract, you're probably subleasing, which (in Spain at least) is illegal. It turned out I was on a long chain of subletters in my apartment, all of whom were paying the landlady untaxed money and living on the down-low.

Maybe that's OK with you, but keep this in mind: a landlord or landlady who is comfortable with black-market housing is also probably comfortable with letting other things happen that violate your rights as a tenant.


2. Red flag #2: the phantom landlord/landlady. A good property owner is going to be around when you're signing your contract, going to want to meet you and make sure you aren't a sketchball, going to want to make sure you know what they're taking care of around the place. If they're not doing that, don't mess with the place.

3. Red flag #3: you're thinking of settling for the place out of fear. "What if I don't find a place to stay?" "What if I totally drain my budget and I never find a side job teaching English?"

News flash: you will find a place to stay. You will find English lessons. Do yourself a favor, save up a little cushion fund for the apartment hunt, and relax. Treat the search for an apartment like something fun, because it can be.


4. Know your rights. Just finding out that my roommates had no legal ground to demand (more) money from me helped me to relax and realize the Guardia Civil wouldn't be knocking on my door and hauling my terrified guiri butt off to jail with the etarras and graffiti-ing teen boys anytime soon. Which helped me to stand my ground and not start forking over hundreds of euros.

5. Reach out.. If you don't know your rights, I guarantee you, there is someone - your pastor, your bartender, your intercambio conversation partner who will explain things to you or help you find someone who can.

This is helpful when you're first searching for a place (they can help you to understand what's normal practice and what sounds like under-the-table shenanigans), and it becomes absolutely necessary if you do get yourself into some kind of a pickle.

 Don't be afraid to be a little vulnerable and ask a few people for help. This was the difference for me between being able to enjoy my last week in Bilbao and me spending that week in an overwhelmed, twitching heap.

6. Trust your gut. This applies to picking an apartment in the first place, obviously: if everything seems good but the pit of your stomach is doing gymnastics, walk away. See Red Flag #3, enough said.

This also applies to interviewing potential new roommates. As my mom reminded me, when Ione first met with us to move in, I had a bad feeling. I kept it to myself. In retrospect, my roommates would have been totally understanding and probably agreed with me that she didn't seem right.

 People come and go a lot in shared apartments, so if you wind up in the position of helping your current roommates replace someone who's leaving, remember, if you have an uneasy feeling about someone, speak up. Those cool people you took your time to select as roommates should be understanding.


 Hope this helps! Anyone have other tips to add? Adventures in housing abroad to share? Leave 'em in the comments!

living abroad: when good apartments go bad (Part 1)

With Jenny, one of my very sweet original roommates


A year abroad wasn't supposed to end like that. It wasn't supposed to end with me hiding in my bedroom and calling my pastor in a panic; three roommates ganging up against the other two of us in a move that was questionable at best; an adrenaline-filled late-night escape to my friend's apartment, where I spent my final week in Bilbao.

Wait, back up. Kit, didn't you love your apartment? Weren't your roommates super nice girls who took you to special events at Mango and to see their beautiful hometowns?

Yes, yes they were. But first Maite and Jenny (who is not American, I promise) moved in with their boyfriends, then Ismene got a sweet internship in California, then Maria got a sweet job in Vitoria. So over a 4-month period I got all new roommates.

And as it turned out, the living situation was fairly sketchy to start with, made OK only in the beginning by the awesome original roommates who lived there. There was no contract, for one thing. None at all. None of us had ever met the landlady, for another - it was just done by a long, questionable chain of subleasing (which - and this would have been interesting to know circa September - is illegal in Spain).

And so it came to pass that I awoke one morning - a week before my flight home, in fact - to what I have to admit was a pretty gutsy letter that one of my new roommates had written. I'll call her Ione, because her name is Ione. The letter, written in pseudo-legalese, was to me and the other girl who was also moving out at the end of the month. Boiled down, it declared that we were legally bound by "tacit agreement" to pay the rent every month that we didn't live there that they didn't find someone to replace us.

It was signed - and I think this is a spectacularly catty touch - "Un abrazo." A hug.



I was, and this should come as no surprise, completely clueless in regards to Spanish housing law. On the one hand, I was terrified; what if this was true? What if I really owed them for every month I couldn't find a replacement to their liking? On the other hand, something seemed wrong. I took a picture of the letter and emailed it to my pastor, who is native to Spain and an ex-attorney.

What do I do? I asked him. Is this right?
He replied that it wasn't, that I shouldn't worry, and invited me over for lunch with him, the family and a Spanish housing expert. Perfect.


Continued with what happened, plus a guide to shopping smart for a rental abroad (hint: never-present owner = no bueno).

what will you miss?

with my friends Thomas and Bryan at the Hanging Bridge in Portugalete
(photo credit: Bryan Alfano)



with my friend Esmeralda in Vitoria-Gasteiz


My friends here in Bilbao and I have been playing this game lately: answering the questions "what will you miss? What won't you miss?" about life here. Most of them are staying here for another year, while I'm flying home this Saturday. It's getting truly strange and bittersweet - of course there are things I can't leave behind fast enough, but I'm also realizing that I'm leaving a pretty significant part of my heart behind here.

So I thought I'd share some of the biggest things I will and won't miss about life here. First up:

Things I Will Not Miss At All About Life In Bilbao

Not belonging. It's thrilling at first, but after nine months standing out it becomes exhausting.

Little things - people walking 4 deep on a sidewalk and not moving, forcing you onto the street; staring being totally A-OK; strangers yelling at me "HELLO!" on the sidewalk because I look foreign (as a side note, if American kids did this to a lady from, say, Mexico, how yelled at would they get by their parents?! So yelled at).

Living in a monoculture. Being as isolated (at least in many ways) from other peoples as Basque country has been for this long makes xenophobia almost a given. Specifying in an ad what ethnicities are and aren't welcome to come check out your room for rent is considered totally acceptable. "Oh, hey, Civil Rights Movement, we didn't see you there. We were too busy recovering from a dictatorship by making films about the crazy stuff we weren't allowed to make films about before."

Not smiling. I've compared notes with other Americans (North and Latin), and the verdict is that people here don't smile nearly as much as we do. Even children - it's pretty standard to see kids playing in a park together with serious little faces, no smiles.

Teaching. If there's anything I don't enjoy, it's teaching people who don't want to learn. It's like, if you don't want to learn English, then don't. If you want to limit your horizons to working in a hardware shop in Alava or something, who am I to stop you?


Things I Will Miss Like Crazy About Life In Bilbao

Living in a monoculture. The flipside of this is that the culture is more condensed, so you get to experience it closer to what it was like hundreds of years ago. There's not so much figuring out what Basque culture is exactly, and the little things that are special about this place stand out more. It's pretty straightforward, you experience it, and you love it.

That incredible travel high that comes from being accepted in a different culture. To everyone who made me feel welcome, accepted, like I could belong even if just for a minute, thank you. You can't know how much it means to me. Unless you've lived abroad. Then you know.

Specialized food shops. I had a good thing going with my butcher, who knew my favorite cuts for stews, and had found my favorite shop for cheap, amazing fruits and veggies. Goodbye, Fresh Local Produce; hello, Trader Joe's.

Random delightful moments. We had our kitchen window open this evening and while I was cooking, voices singing "Happy Birthday" in Basque from another apartment came breezing in. Moments like that.

Specific people - my housemate from last semester, my church family, and a handful of other incredible people. A lot of people have stepped up and been amazing friends to me here when it came down to it (more on that to come).


Fellow expats: what about y'all? What would you most miss - and be the most glad to leave behind?

a festival, and students

Laudio had its annual feria right before the Giant Humongous Two Week Spring Break. The festival meant lots of stands with local food...



Idiazabal cheese-on-bread pintxos



Basque cakes


...Tractors (no photos of those, but you're not missing out much - it's pretty much all John Deere over here too, if you're interested in that stuff), livestock...


Some delightfully patriotic cows


(as a side note, at the end of the row of really beautiful horses they had were a cluster of decidedly not-beautiful horses. Hanging over their sides was a sign that said "Horses for meat." What up, culture shock?!?)

...and as an added bonus, my last class got to skip its lesson. Instead, the other (i.e. real) teacher and I took the class over to the feria.

stylin'

I've been wanting to do a post on fashion in Basque country for a while. Delightful folks (like this one) keep posting on Spanish chic, and I wanted to clear the air a little.

Before I first visited, you see, I sort of wondered: is there a specific Basque style, or is it all just, you know, kind of Iberian?

Yes to both, as it turns out. Much like in "Spain Spain" (you know, like I'm in Spain, but not Spain Spain), you do see lots of neutrals. Boots are a winter must, you can't wear sweatpants/workout gear in public, and tights under shorts is just how you roll if you're under 30.

But this isn't about the stuff that people wear here, in Madrid, in Sevilla, and in Barcelona. Think of this post as a love letter to those fashion trends that are truly and uniquely Basque.

Presenting 10 Rules of Basque Fashion:

1. Wearing outdoor apparel to do things other than go hiking is not just for Americans.

2. El Flequillo Vasco: Basque Bangs. It's hard to describe this accurately to people who haven't spent a little time in Basque Country, but it varies between an Audrey Hepburn (but with a bit more of the "a dog has been chewing on my hair" effect):
(All rights reserved by fastshelby on flickr)

and a really short, blunt fringe.

This haircut is great because 1) it works for ladies with short or long hair AND for men with a little mullet going on and 2) people can tell what your views on Basque independence probably are without having to ask. This haircut says, "I joined ETA and all I got were these lousy bangs."

(***Disclaimer: I have several friends who have had this haircut and are not members of ETA. I should also note here that they are all at least three times as fashionable as I.)

3a. Ladies: put on some makeup. What do you think you are, American?

3b. Not that much makeup. What do you think you are, Spanish?

4. Teenagers: Buy a Loreak Mendian hoodie. Wear it at least once a week.


5. Younger gentlemen: Hiking pants with contrasting color patches on the knees and butt are all kinds of fly.

The best are made by Ternua, and if you're really hardcore you can make a Tolosa tuxedo out of it by rocking a Ternua brand hiking jacket with it as well.

6. Also for the younger gentlemen: you need either an Athletic Bilbao or Real Sociedad jersey. You need to wear it once a week. You can supplement the other days by wearing band T-shirts or shirts with the Basque national soccer team logo.

7. For the older gentlemen: 4 things are key. 1) txapela (Basque beret). 2) camisa de cuadros (checkered Oxford shirt). 3. Cigar in your hand. 4. cardigan around your shoulders (most key in Donosti). Allow me and my Carnaval costume, Patxi, to demonstrate:

(photo credit Jessica Chandras)

8. Whoever told you fanny packs weren't fashionable was lying. They go great with those Ternua pants.

9. Tweens: Surf gear! Billabong jackets, backpacks, whatever. The more you can look like an Australian, the better, really.

10. Do all of this nonsense and still manage to, as a people, look more put-together than the average American can ever dream of.

they hold these truths to be self-evident

It's bound to happen any time you move to a foreign country, really: you come up against the Local Truths. Things that had never occurred to you as possible outlooks on life, but there they are, confronting you and your American background at every turn. Here are some of my favorite facts of Basque life (and the ones that have challenged me the most).


1. "Spanish" is a palabrota, a cuss word. Don't call a Basque a Spaniard. Some do think of themselves as Spanish, but it's too politically-charged to say so nonetheless.

2. The word "Iberian" is a lifesaver. Because sometimes you want to refer to something that happens everywhere within the borders of Spain, but as we've learned, you can't just go around saying "Spanish." Although "Iberian" technically means the whole Peninsula, including Portugal, we know you're not talking about the Portuguese, are you?

3. Repeat after me: Staring. Is. Not. Rude.

4. You're walking on the street, and someone makes eye contact with you. What do you do? Give them a little, polite "Hi" smile, right? Wrong. This is one of the hardest things for Americans to adjust to, but adjust we must, because (at least for ladies) smiling at a random dude on the street can mean "hey, baby, you're lookin' fly!" For everyone else it just looks weird.

5. 14 is an appropriate age to begin staying out all night with your friends and drinking. And smoking, because it makes you look totally mature and cool.

6a. You can almost always tell who's, ahem, Iberian, just by looking.

6b. If you don't look Iberian, it will happen to you at least once that people yell at you on the street in whatever language they think you might speak (this is always English). Usually this means "Hello!", "I love you!" or one of the two cuss words they know.

7. Your waiter probably isn't being rude - table service just isn't as attentive as it is in the States.

8. Walking four people deep on a sidewalk is your inalienable right. You needn't budge - say, walk two and two - to let others pass.

9a. Stop worrying about efficiency - it's just not a priority here to the extent that it is to Americans. Yes, that means things will sometimes take 3 times as long as you think they should. But sometimes it can be a good thing because...

9b. ...Cheap food is usually higher quality than what you'd get in the same situations in the USA. Example: the sole restaurant by San Juan de Gaztelugatxe serves excellent pintxos. In the US, the only restaurant serving hungry visitors to a popular destination is usually not going to put that much thought into quality - probably a stand serving overpriced hot dogs and fries. Even though they've completely cornered the market, though, that bar puts out seriously delicious and affordable treats. Efficient, from a business perspective? Maybe not. Awesome? Heck yes.

10. Late isn't late, unless it is. Basque society is caught in this funny pull between Spanish culture and not-Spanish culture, and here's one of the places it shows. Sometimes (especially for social engagements) you don't show up on time. Other times you do. Beats me how they decide.


Other expats: what about you? What are some of the things you've noticed they take for granted in your new home that would never have occurred to you before? Which ones ruffled your feathers the most? Bonus points for expats from other places living in America - I'd love to hear which crazy American behaviors stand out the most!

speaking American

Today's post was going to be about the Cinque Terre, where I spent much of my Carnival vacation last week.

Then I found out about this (I originally found it here, via another language assistant's blog).

This came on the heels of another discussion about how racism is notably more socially acceptable in Spain than in the United States. And usually that's true - talking about how you "have to watch out for the black people" or doing the "chinese eye stretch" doesn't get a second glance here, while in most of America that sort of thing is a pretty big no-no. Especially for a lot of Southerners - hello, residual slavery/Jim Crow/generally behaving like asses about the Civil RIghts movement guilt - "racist" is about the worst thing someone can call you.

Then my home state went and shamed me. A quick summary of the article above: Latino customers, who did not speak English, went into a diner in Lexington on two occasions and ordered using gestures and probably some Spanish words. Management of the diner put up a sign that those who did not speak "American" (they meant English) would not be served. God bless America, it said.

Huh? I understand that, when a customer goes into a restaurant, the impetus is on them to be able to order. That said, you can communicate plenty using gestures and pointing at menus. The best meal I had in Genoa was at a restaurant where the waitress spoke no English. I spoke no Italian. We just ordered by saying the names of what we wanted off the menu in our bad Italian accents. She brought us the check and, wow, numbers are the same in Italy as in America, so we knew how much to pay. No problem. I would have been flabbergasted if she had refused to serve us because we didn't speak Italian!

The thing that really upsets me here is I really don't think that's America's heart. I truly believe that, by and large, Americans are an open, friendly people. We're one of only a few countries that's been so defined by its diversity, and while I know each new wave of immigrants has faced prejudice on some level or other, I think the overall attitude towards diversity is a positive one. Here in Bilbao, you can tell who's not Basque (or at very least who's not Iberian), but you can't tell who's not American in America. Ethnicity won't tell you; language won't tell you; dress won't tell you. It's one of the things I love most about my country.

So when a diner in North Carolina goes and puts up a "no English, no service" sign, it breaks my heart, not only because of the way it must have made non-English speakers in the community feel, but because it's an attack on the very thing that makes America great.

I love our diversity. I love that we don't have an official language, that the minute you pledge allegiance to the Flag, whatever language you speak becomes "American."

God bless America.

amereotypes

that's stereotypes about Americans, for those of you who aren't into puns of the "Daaaaad, you're embarrassing me!" variety.



Not a false stereotype at all, but what I spent a good $40 on at the State Fair last year. Followed by another $5 on Tums.


In the past couple weeks I have had my students ask me:

-if I know anyone famous (no)

-if I drive an expensive car (no)

-if I have lots of money (of course; I teach English for the Spanish government. If the Spanish gov isn't a high rollin' boss I don't know who is)

-if I eat hamburgers all the time (come on, be serious)

-if I like Eminem (see hamburgers answer)


Some day I'm going to respond by asking them if they've blown up any buildings or won any Michelin stars lately.***



***these are the only two stereotypes Americans even come close to having about Basque people. Because terrorism and haute cuisine are the only things that make it through to us, best case scenario. I'm sure you could tease another good generalization about Americans being ignorant out of there somewhere.

coming soon: field guide to Spanish junk food. I'm pretty pumped about it.

chicken juice and other authentic experiences

When all the language assistants got here from America this past fall, our #1 priority was clear. It came up again and again in conversation as we were settling in and doing the job hunt:

I want to find local roommates.

I could say I was one of the lucky ones, except it wasn't luck at all, it was getting here a full week ahead of schedule to hunt for an apartment. Anyway, I had Made It. I had Real Basque Roommates. I was going to have the Authentic Local Experience.

Let me pause for a moment here to give you some vital background information: This is not a cynical post. I really do like my roommates. We've had a lot of turnover so I don't know everyone in my piso so well yet, but from everything I can tell I like my new roommates too. My old roommate Ismene is without doubt my closest friend from here.

Anyway, back to the story. Sometime between October 1 and now, I have formed a conclusion about the Search for Local Roommates. It boils down to this shocker: Basque roommates are still roommates. Stop the presses, I know. What this means is, yes, they speak at least one language you're trying to learn and yes, you get to have closer contact with "local culture" at home. On the one hand, living with fellow Americans doesn't really get you this kind of immersion; on the other, do you really want to experience your deepest culture shock at home? That's not a rhetorical question; I really don't know the answer. But consider this experience I had yesterday:

I go to the freezer to pull out some cheese or something I had in there. I discover the freezer door is open and won't shut. The things near the front of the freezer have partly thawed, including some chicken that was wrapped haphazardly in some saran wrap. Chicken had dripped all over, meaning when I opened the door, I was greeted with a spurt of chicken juice. I spent the next 10 minutes cleaning out the freezer and flipping out - "it's just not healthy to leave raw meat like that!," I kept repeating like some broken disc to Teresa, who was helping me mop up the floor and in all likelihood wondering what had gotten into me.

In a later conversation with my mom, after I had settled down, she reminded me that people here do not worry about food storage like we do in America - at least partly because chickens in Europe don't go through the horribly gross process that American chickens go through.

Of course, if I lived with Americans, I wouldn't have gone through that little culture shock meltdown. I also wouldn't have gotten to see the expressions on my roommates' faces when they tried their first candy corn, their first biscuit, their first roasted sweet potato. I wouldn't have thought to visit some of the places I've seen and I wouldn't have gotten to have a "Marcha de San Sebastian" sing-and clap-along in the car on the way home from Lekeitio.

Living with people who have a different worldview, background, even native language is a challenge at times - but I can't say I regret it!

hey, Ferran Adria hates bellpeppers, ok?

so pretty, and yet they repulse me


Circa 1991, a 5-year-old me was confronted with something that, to my little girl mind, was truly terrifying.

My parents had ordered pizza with artichokes on it.

Of course, I had no idea what artichokes were, only that they were green and must be gross. Mom and Dad quickly nipped that one in the bud, telling me I didn't have to like them, I just had to try them. You can see what's coming next: little Kathy (yes, I was Kathy then***) tastes artichoke pizza; little Kathy loves artichoke pizza; little Kathy grows up to order artichokes on her pizza all the dang time.

The valuable lesson I learned there was, of course, my parents' philosophy on food adventurousness: you don't have to like everything, but you ought to give everything a try. This has served me well and maybe later I will do a post on the weirdest or most interesting things I have eaten and liked, but for now, I want to talk about the failures. The foods where I tried them, usually really wanting to like them, but couldn't stand them just the same.


First up: raw tomatoes and raw onions. It's a tie for these two - raw onions taste abrasive and have a horrifying texture, and raw tomatoes are gag-inducing and have a horrifying texture. The tomatoes one causes me a lot more grief, though, because people are always getting good tomatoes in the summer in NC and making sandwiches out of them and I know I'm missing out.

Second: Chorizo. I know, I know, I live in Spain and don't like chorizo. The horror. Actually, come to think of it....

Second.five: all cured meats. That's right, country ham, jamon serrano, proscuitto, bacon that is not from America, and all their cousins. I don't actually hate these usually, but never do I love them. Of course I suck it up here: I will eat jamon on things, and obviously when someone gives me a piece of their jamon I eat it and praise its deliciousness. I'm still Southern, people. But sometimes when those cured meats taste really stinky, I do hate them. I'm looking at you, you nasty piece of Virginia country ham messing up that biscuit I was going to eat.

Third: bleu cheese. I go through phases where I am OK with it and where I hate it, and right now I hate it.

Fourth: horseradish. I can't even explain to you how much I hate horseradish. Except you know when you have mustard on something, and the first bite is just a little sour and spice, and then you taste the horseradish in the mustard in that second bite? Yeah, I can't go past bite 1.

aaand fifth: canned tuna on or in anything but tuna salad. Which I made. On a tuna melt. Here tuna winds up on everything: salads, pizza, you name it. True story: once I went with my roommates to a telepizza (think Domino's but much, much worse) to get pizza for a party. They started looking at jamon and tuna pizzas, and I, thinking I was getting around this problem of pizzaingredientsKatadoesn'tlike, requested a 4-cheese pizza. Guess what one of the 4 cheeses is here? BLEU. Cultural adjustment fail.

So... there it is, the embarrassing edibles a self-purported foodie can't bring herself to get on board with. Feels freeing to get that off my chest.



***side note for people who only know me from Spain/this blog: you most definitely canNOT call me Kathy. I go by Kit in America (or "real life"), which you may call me if you promise not to introduce me to a Spanish person as Kit, because then they will forever call me "Keet" which, let's be real, sounds like an ugly bug.

adventures in medicine

x-ray of my happily pneumonia-free chest


I'd had a sore throat the past couple days. Overnight, it went from "just sore throat" to sore throat, earache, fever, terrifying cough - the whole nine yards. So I called my insurance company, they sent me to the doctor's office, and let me tell you, it was ON.

First the nurse took my blood pressure, temperature, and all the standard stuff. Then it was back to the waiting room, then on to the X-rays (see above).

By the way, visiting the doctor's office really highlights the gaps in your foreign language proficiency. I made everyone repeat instructions twice ("I'm pretty sure she just said to take off my shirt and lie down over there, but what if that wasn't what she said at all and now the funny American is stripping and lying down?").

After a game of musical doctor's rooms (I believe I went to four, including a brief but exciting visit to one wrong one - who would have thought there'd have been another Katherine in the clinic?), I was informed that my throat and right ear were indeed infected, but on the bright side I didn't have pneumonia like apparently a lot of other people had. Prescription in hand, I marched to the pharmacy, then straight back home.

How much did all this cost, you ask?

...21 euros. And that was for the prescription, which apparently my insurance will also reimburse me for. Basque Government, I'm sorry I ever doubted your ability to hook me up.

oh, hello again

I just took a look, and it turns out I haven't posted for two weeks. TWO WEEKS! Oops.

I can explain: I was in America still, but all that had happened was still snow and Christmas and hanging out with my family. There are only so many ways to say "my dad makes a mean cuban sandwich."

Then I was in Germany, and the internet in our hotel was terr-i-ble.

Then I was here for 4 days, but my old friend Doctor Homesickness announced that he was open for business inside my mind again and really, who wants to hear detailed descriptions of how sad you're feeling? Not a travel blog audience, that's for dang sure.

Anyway, the long and short of this is: the blog is back up and running. Sorry for making y'all wait.

Germany post up next!

ask me a question

Tomorrow I'm heading off for the long weekend to Donostia. Prepare yourselves for more photos of food, because that is what happens on my camera when I go there. I think I will get back Tuesday.

I had an idea for while I'm MIA stuffing my face in the culinary capital of the planet: Q&A.

OK, I did not have this idea, I saw it on another blog, but it's a great idea. It's pretty simple:

Ask me any questions you want about my life here in Bilbao. I'll do a post answering them on here after I get a few.

And go!

second time's the charm

Kwali the koala visits the Guggenheim

I'd been meaning to do it for a while now. Go back to the Guggenheim museum, I mean. One of my roommates had given me a bunch of free-entry passes she had lying around, so I had no reason not to. Except that the only time I'd been before, the featured exhibition was all about Frank Lloyd Wright, which is great unless you're like me and can't stand Frank Lloyd Wright. Then it's 2 hours of "I wish I'd just stood outside and looked at the museum from out there."

No matter, I decided, as an adopted Bilbaina I had to give it another chance. Anyway, the current exhibitions were photography and Dutch art. I loved it. A couple things struck me as I wandered around the museum. One is relevant to life and the other is ridiculous. Ridiculous first:

1) One of the Dutch paintings (still-lifes with flowers and fruits and dead game and stuff) had hacked salmon. You know when a fishmonger takes a whole tuna or salmon and they chop it down the middle so you can see a cross-section of it the fish's meat/spine? Can't stand it. Like, I go into markets and have to look at the ground in the fish sections because the possibility of seeing hacked tuna/salmon is too terrifying. I didn't say it made sense, I just said I was scared of it. Anyway, it's also scary in a painting.

2) What if I treated Raleigh like I treat Bilbao? Here, I'm always seeking out art exhibits, concerts, festivals, markets, restaurants I haven't tried. I start every week with the expectation that I'm going to have some kind of great cultural/food/etc. experience. Of course I do, and of course much of it is the wonderfulness of Basque Country, but a lot of it is the effort I put in, too. In Raleigh, I generally take life there for granted, get into a routine, and don't bother to seek new things out. Why bother to go to that farmer's market I heard was cool this week when I could go next week, or next year, or in 5 years? There's no urgency to soak up your home culture because your time there isn't limited by a visa. But what if I acted like it was? What if I kept up with art exhibitions, local food trends, festivals, and other events in Raleigh? What if I woke up every Monday expecting to discover some awesome new facet of my own culture that week?

I have a serious suspicion that any city can be interesting and captivating if you put in the effort to discover.

The urge to get in a zinger right now along the lines of "any city except Madrid" is pretty strong, but I think I'm going to leave Madrid alone tonight. My favorite love-to-hate-it city took enough of a beating yesterday when Barcelona FC handed Real Madrid their fancy, overpaid bottoms on a platter 5-0.

In the words of Nelson Muntz, HA HA!

so true!

from about.com's tips for conversation with Americans:

Americans love to talk about location. When speaking to a stranger, ask them where they are from and then make a connection with that place. For example: "Oh, I have a friend who studied in Los Angeles. He says it's a beautiful place to live." Most Americans will then willingly talk about their experiences living or visiting that particular city or area.

It's so true! I didn't really realize other people groups didn't do that, except come to think of it no English people I've ever met have been excited to discover that one of my best friends is from London. Weird, I would be totally stoked if I met someone someplace random and they told me their best friend was from anywhere in NC!

Thanksgiving: Round Two

My first helping

The guests for the Big American Thanksgiving just left my house. All I can say is it was really, really nice to get together and enjoy some American tradition together, eat American food (there was even turkey! Can you believe it?!) and listen to christmas music (hey, it's not technically Thanksgiving anymore, christmas music is now fair game).

Everyone who came, who brought food, paper plates, wine, whatever: Thank you.

There's no place like home for the holidays, but maybe home can be, just for a while, a little corner of the world far from where you were born.

learning curve

I was out for dinner and drinks with my roommates and kept noticing myself zoning out because I was having difficulty following the conversation. I could swear my Spanish is actually worse than it was a few weeks ago because it feels like I am so often missing the words I need to articulate myself. What's going on? A few weeks ago I was positive I could understand any conversation in Spanish, and now it feels like all confusion, all the time.

I've hit that point in language learning where I feel like I'm at a plateau, where it feels like my spanish isn't improving at all even though I'm using it all the time and goodness knows I'm immersed. The tricky thing about this period is that although it's the easiest time to get discouraged and retreat into an expat circle where all you use is English (or the Spanish that everyone understands because, claro, we're all English speakers first), I really believe it's also the time when the most growth happens.

It's only at this point, having lived here for a month with Spanish (ok, and Basque, but that doesn't help me a lot)-speaking roommates and encountering new situations, that I'm becoming unable to coast by on my casual conversation abilities. It's not all "hello, nice to meet you" and "excuse me while I order this pintxo"-type conversations anymore, and I'm noticing my weaknesses because I'm being challenged more.

In retrospect, of course, this is really the best stage someone wanting to improve a foreign language could hope for. Every time I become frustrated that I can't communicate a certain story or view the way I want to to my friends and/or roommates, I learn in retrospect what I was missing.

Leaving me at once frustrated and hopeful every time I open my mouth and my second language comes out.

can't think of one

wheeeeeeeeew.
So I've just sent out about a million emails to prospective roommates here in Bilbao. Hoping to hear back soon... it is really stressful not having a place to live. I'm starting to understand the people who prearranged their piso situations before getting here! BUT I've been couchsurfing (last night and tonight) and it has been delightful to hang out a little and have actual conversation!! The couple I'm staying with showed me around Bilbao some last night, then we went back to their house just outside the city (in the mountains!! it's cool!), had dinner, and they helped me start looking for apartments. All in all they have been super helpful and welcoming. Thumbs up for couchsurfing.

And, best news, I finally found a pension (like a B&B) that is nice and cheap and well-located to stay after tonight. It was getting a little tense because I kept calling places and everywhere with a reasonable price was filled up! And I have my cell phone set up now, so I can communicate when I'm out, which is always good.

But... I am still struggling really hard with homesickness. I don't know what I was thinking getting here this early, if I had waited to go when the other auxiliares got here I would have had some instant friends, but now I'm in Bilbao and I feel like I don't have any friends. I know this is the hardest part, that it only gets better, etc, etc, but somehow that doesn't help as much as it should. When I'm logical about it I remember how much I loved the last two times I lived abroad and how much I love Basque Country so it makes sense that once I settle in I'm going to love it love it here, but I'm struggling right now not to wish I could go home. I have to remind myself that it's not irreversible, that in the unlikely eventuality that I settle in here and still can't adjust, I can always go home. I mean, I probably won't, but it's good to know it's there. Also, apparently lots of people get "expat flu" where they get sick right when they first move abroad, so maybe I have that and it's not just nerves that have been messing with my stomach.

And every piece of homesickness advice suggests I list the reasons I moved here, the things I like about my new home. So here goes:

Getting better at Spanish.
Walks along the river.
Trips around Spain & around Europe.
Delicious Basque food.
The laid-back, genuine vibe here in Bilbao.
Visiting Arzak.
Tamborrada in January.
Futbol, in bars and at the stadium.
Teaching English.
Spanish fashion.

Let's end on a high note. Yesterday as I was riding in the car with Casey and Asier, they put on a Basque language lesson CD and we were all repeating after the CD and it was great fun and then came probably the most useless thing ever:

"Sevilakoa naiz, baina Madriden bizi naiz." That means: "I am from Sevilla, but I live in Madrid."

ahahahaha how many people in that situation could possibly be learning Basque?? haha, awesome.

Ay, me voy otra vez, ay te dejo Madrid

SO doing a lot better now, I've recovered a lot from the flight and sickness. Still missing the fam, but exploring around the city was really nice. Went to Cien Montaditos (hello mojo picon sauce!!!), got an horchata at Mercado San Miguel:



and...

Bilbao tomorrow!!!! I coughed up the extra 20 euros for a ride on the fancy bus with staff attendant service, catering and plush seats. I'm coming Bilbao!!!!

he llegado

I got to Madrid this morning after a pretty difficult flight. A combination of nerves and anticipatory homesickness made me pretty sick, especially the first leg of the flight, and now it's all recovery. things are better now that I'm here staying with a friend and have been able to stretch my legs out, although if I'm honest I have been feeling really homesick on and off all day still.

why does no one ever talk about how scary this is? Do not get me wrong, I love travel and I am really looking forward to settling in in Bilbao, but moving away from home to a city on a different continent where I don't really know anyone is flipping scary. On the other hand, nothing truly worthwhile in life ever comes without a fight I don't think.

On the brighter side, I've made some good connections through couchsurfing I think, so if those pan out well I might have some instant friends.

Tomorrow I think we're going to go exploring in Madrid. Tony Bourdain just did a show here so maybe we'll hit up one or two of the places he ate...

that's it for now.