Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts

Saturday, May 28, 2011

"agur" is a four-letter word.


"It's cool," the customs guy in Washington, D.C. told me. "You're a civilian now - you're not a tourist anymore." The relief finally hit me: I'm home. I belong here.

I needed it, because starting yesterday with the end of classes I'd been a mess. I was waiting for my last train out of Laudio when it really started to hit me how much I'm leaving behind. The past 48 hours I've been breaking down and crying on and off. It's the "lasts" that have gotten me: Last Saturday daytrip. Last time singing in church. Last hug with each friend.

This morning I thought I was going to make it OK - I was too sleepy to cry, I figured. Then my friend who had brought me to the airport started crying. I lost it. I've been crying like a baby on and off the whole way home.

Of course, the amount this is hurting really only confirms that it was time to move back now. I know I'm not up to building an expat life for the long term at this point, and if it was this hard now, it would have only been more difficult next year. I know and love people who have remained in Spain because, well, they woke up one day and realized that their life was more in Spain than back home. I'm not ready to do that, not ready to leave American life behind. If it's this hard now, it would have been impossible next year.

I have so much to look forward to here in the USA. It's why I'm moving back home. But as my pastor said, "tienes el corazón dividido." Your heart's divided now.


"Agur" is Basque for "goodbye," by the way. It could be the worst word in the whole language.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

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?

Thursday, May 5, 2011

one of those reminiscing posts


"pour cider perfectly" could have been a goal. check.


Way back in July, I made a list of things I wanted to make sure I accomplished during my stay here. With less than a month to go (exactly 3 weeks now!) left in Bilbao, I thought it was time to revisit those plans and see how I did.

So, presenting the Basque Country Goals Progress Report:

1. Calçotada. Yes, yes, and yes. It was everything I dreamed it would be.

2a. Yep. Visited Sevilla; saw stepsister.

2b. Obviously. These things are so good they shouldn't even be classified in the same species as regular olives. They should be called "angel droppings" or something.

2c. Nope. Donald proved impossible to find.

3. Partial success - I did the harder part, interestingly, and can now sing you the entire Athletic song in Basque, although I didn't make it to the stadium. Whatever, time over here has made me realize, once Betica, always Betica. Embarrassing but true. Choose your first soccer team wisely, kids, it's your team forever.

4. Not necessary, Cristiano Ronaldo creates these every day without any help from my creativity.

5. Not really. I have no idea what the heck my accent is at this point; it's certainly not an actual Bilbao one, although my andalu comes back after I try for a while. Anyway, ambitious much? What did I even think I was going to do here in Bilbao, learn to talk like someone from the Canary Islands?

6. Oh yes. My winter runs were always along the river, by the Gugg. The incredible good fortune of living five minutes from the actual Guggenheim museum isn't something I'll forget anytime soon.

7a. Whopping fail.

7b. Whopping success.

8. No. But I did begin mashing them often, which was new, and also went through a pretty big "homemade fries" phase last semester. Also made patatas a la Riojana, which I hated (for chorizo reasons).

9. Not happening. Your loss, Pamplona.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

moving on.


About two weeks ago, my dad and stepmom found out they would be selling their house. And moving. Soon.

Like this Friday soon.

So here I am, back in North Carolina for my best friend's wedding, going through bunches of old stuff, taking what I want and leaving what I don't want to or can't bring with me.

Like these roses. Dad and Wendy put a lot into making their backyard gorgeous. I could say all the stuff you usually say about how we never really appreciate these things until they're gone, but it always goes that way, right? Of course it's bittersweet, but it comes down to this: it's time for a new chapter. I'm happy to get to watch them begin it.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

just some things

So first off, Amorebieta - the town I work in during the evenings - has a pretty side. Did y'all know it had a pretty side? Because I didn't. You get there on the bus/train and it is mildly industrial and it has that weird spiny potato and sometimes it smells like a paper mill. But check it:



SURPRISE. Pretty.

Second, why does everyone have to pronounce all their S's in northern, um, Iberia? Spanish as a second language people: try to say "Las respuestas" with all the S's. It takes like 15 minutes, right?! I want my acento andalu back, now.

Third, guess what, people? I led worship in church today. Have you ever been a worship leader, Kit? No. Was it kind of haphazard? Yes. Was it kind of awesome? Yes.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

green doesn't look so good on me...


That's not to be taken literally, of course. Green actually looks awesome on me. What a great color.

Nope, I'm talking about envy - pure, unadulterated blog envy. Posts by my friend Jessica and also the super-inspiring Melanie over at You Are My Fave have gotten me thinking about this.

It's so easy to fall into that trap: first, read an amazing blog. Maybe their travel is more extensive, their web design better, their commitment to regular posting more solid, or their camera nicer (see, uh, everyone under "inspiration") than yours. The next step after you notice the discrepancy between their site and yours: get bummed out. You think, how can I ever make something this cool?

Plus the fact that, OK, people who are blogging don't typically post the mundane things so much - just the hilarious anecdotes, the exhilarating travels, the mouth-watering photos of things they cooked or picked or whatever - makes it feel like these other people have dreamy, perfect lives. How can yours possibly measure up?

Here's how I'm dealing with it:

1. Giving myself goals. For me this means learning more about food arrangement in photos, researching web design stuff for when I get home, writing as much as I can to keep that muscle active and learning as much as I can about how to use my camera.

2. Recognizing that there are some things I just can't do yet. My food photos are not going to be on the level of, say, Canelle et Vanille until I upgrade in camera/lens quality; comparing myself to people with more experience and resources does no one any good (actually, comparing yourself to anyone does no one any good). And doing what I can with what I have (see #1) so that I am ready when the time comes for an upgrade.

3. Soaking in the sites that make me a little bit jealous, getting over the jealousy and letting myself get inspired! This is huge because, duh, you wouldn't be jealous of something if it didn't have something you wanted. If you can let go of the "why-can't-this-be-me" mindset and focus on appreciating, the parts of that inspiration that are meant to soak in and influence your own style will. Or you'll try it and realize it isn't you. Either way, you're growing.

4. Paying attention to what jumps out at me most: what styles of writing, layouts and aesthetics really make me smile. For example, I love the "this photo could have been taken in Provence" style but don't consider it the most "me"; I'm not at all into the "British 1950s equestrian" aesthetic; I adore the "this thing looks like it was taken from a tiny town in Cuba/Santa Fe, New Mexico/Frida Kahlo's house" aesthetic the most. Being mindful of the kinds of things that speak to you the most can help you shape a site others eventually will (and if they don't, at least you'll love it!).



Maybe my favorite image ever, by Manuel Salgado on Flickr. Who doesn't love those little blue armadillos?

Saturday, February 19, 2011

the catalan snack that changed my life


Check out this raw tomato, just chillin' on my plate like it ain't no thang.


It's finally happened, folks. I think I've found my gateway drug to raw tomato enjoyment.

Regular readers will recall my long-standing distaste for raw tomatoes. I had almost resigned myself to a life of missing out on that sharp, acid bite of a raw tomato that people with more fortunate tastebuds are always raving about.

Then, last saturday, came pa amb tomàquet. That's right, you clever linguists: bread and tomato. It's crazy simple: toasted bread, rubbed with garlic, smeared with a raw tomato cut in half, and drizzled with olive oil. Oh no, you don't get to cook it once the tomato's on there: you just rub that tomato snot all over the place, then go to town.

I tried it; I liked it.

Then I had it again on Sunday; I loved it.

Then, curious to see if perhaps it was just something in that magical Catalan air, the same something that had possibly influenced the fantastical thought lives of Salvador Dali and Antoni Gaudi, I bought my own crusty bread and a tomato back in Bilbao.

I made it myself; I liked that, too (though not as much as the Sunday one; see picture. Seriously, that stuff was killer).


Sunday's p amb t


I'm still not up to full tomatoes yet, but that distinctive flavor and tomato snot are right there, on the bread, and I'm pretty into it.

There's hope for me yet.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

In Defense of Foodies



An article came out recently on CNN Eatocracy about, basically, why "foodie" is a dirty word among chefs. I'm gonna lay it out here: it made me mad.

I should confess that I have a vested interest here. For me growing up, "foodie" was not a dirty word at all - it was praise my dad gave me whenever I was a good little eater. It meant you loved food, were willing to try new dishes and enjoyed discussing food with people. That's it.

Sometime between my upbringing in a food-loving and minimally pretentious house (my family's from Asheboro, NC, for goodness' sake), "foodie" acquired some negative connotations. My friend Marti describes foodies as "gross," "navel-gazing" and the foodie movement as "[l]ike some kind of commercialization or trendifying of the love I felt for food." Seattle Weekly writer Jason Sheehan (quoted on Eatocracy) takes it a step further, calling foodies "coup-counting, lock-jawed, cake-eating, nose-in-the-air dimwits."

OK, so let's be honest here. When people who are passionate about food are that quick to declare themselves absolutely not foodies, what they're really trying to do is distance themselves from people who are elitist and more interested in the impression they make on others than the actual food in front of them.

Let me ask you this. Why is it that adventure travelers can swap Everest-climbing stories or Bruce Springsteen fans can trade tales of the time they were at this concert and they swear the Boss actually looked at them, but the minute a foodie mentions to another foodie how good that mole they had down in Puebla was, or how sweet and down-to-earth Elena Arzak really is, or how perfect North Carolina Sandhills peaches are in the summer, they are immediately branded disingenuous and elitist?

Since when is it by definition elitist and affected to share my passion with other people who have the same passion?

Let's get even more honest, though, since I was really giving anti-foodie food lovers the benefit of the doubt there. In some cases, it seems an awful lot like distancing themselves from the elitist boors they call foodies is a way to show how much more elite they are than the elite.

Because here's what frustrates me about exhortations from anti-foodies to "shut up and eat:" you know they're not about to. Of course they are still going to talk about food; they're interested in it and for Pete's sake, talking is what people who are interested in something do when they're with others who share their interest. And so what may have been intended as a battle cry for the purity of flavor, untinged by the flapping of gums about it, ends up sounding like: "I can talk about food; you can't."

Another common complaint against foodies, so the argument goes, is that it's a label used to differentiate oneself in a separate (higher) social class. Of course there are plenty of people who will seize whatever they can in a bid of "look how rich I am," but I'm calling BS on foodie-ism being intrinsically so.

First of all, people of the very lowest income brackets can get ingredients and take an interest in how to put them together in tasty ways. They can appreciate things they think taste good, and they can talk with their friends about it. For goodness' sake, have we learned nothing from Anthony Bourdain's countless diatribes about how the best cuisines of every nation sprung from necessity - poor people figuring out how to cook the cheapest things well? If anything's elitist, it's the assumption that people without a high income can't be foodies.

Second of all, and I know this is a crazy thought, but terms exist to differentiate things from other things. What do I mean here? Not all people are fascinated by food. This doesn't make them less civilized or lower-class any more than not being a kayaker or a pop art fan or a ukelele player.

People have different interests, and not everyone's is food. Anyone who looks down on people with different interests then theirs is first and foremost antisocial, not a foodie.

Oh, but cooks hate foodies, you say. Foodies are always being jerks in restaurants and making the chefs come out so they can look important in front of their friends. Foodies are always sending food back because they can. Foodies are only interested in chasing trends, not the purity of flavor.

Here's the thing: you haven't just described foodies. You've just described pretentious jerks, obnoxious bullies, and silly trend-chasers. And excuse me, but I guarantee you that there are pretentious jerks, obnoxious bullies and silly trend-chasers who are rock climbers, art fans, ukelele players and so on. We don't stop using the terms "rock climber," "art fan" and "ukelele player" just because there are jerks who do those things. We let the words keep their original meaning.

"Foodie," I should point out, came about as a term to describe people who loved food because "gourmet" sounded too pretentious. Sound familiar? A question for all the foodier-than-thou anti-foodies out there: what term do you suggest? If we go running from "foodie" next, how do we describe people who have a serious interest in food?

Another question: let's say you have a deep respect for cooks as professionals. You truly appreciate good ingredients prepared creatively or even just well and simply. You tip generously. You don't look down on people who don't share your interest in food. Now, how many cooks are seriously going to hate you just because you call yourself a foodie?

I thought not.

A thought for lovers of food: let's spend less energy punishing the language for the behavior of a few pompous jerks and more energy on being good examples of what a foodie really is.

My name is Kit Cox, and I am a foodie.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

que será, será



The question on every language assistant's mind, starting in November: am I staying here next year?

OK, not every language assistant. Some are definitely going home because their contracts are nonrenewable; others are definitely staying because they're in love with a Spaniard and/or this has become more their home than their home back home. If you know what I mean there. But the choice was definitely on my mind.

Time off, a visit back home to Raleigh and settling back into my routine made the decision easy for me.

I'm moving home next year.

Actually, to be honest, the decision was pretty much made before Christmas break. So why, you ask, am I leaving this 22-hour-a-work-week-living-in-Europe gig to go back to America, where food is processed, the work week is 40 hours, and none of those hours get cancelled because of a strike?

Well... lots of reasons. Life in Europe is still life, first of all. Yes, Bilbao is still awesome; yes, I still love it here. But when you live somewhere, it's not like you are a constant tourist; you are settling in, going to your job, coming home, cooking dinner, watching TV or reading, going to bed. Also, I have discovered that I don't terribly like teaching. Go figure. The kids are still entertaining sometimes and I have another job at an academy in the afternoons, both of which are fine jobs. I just don't dig teaching all that much.

But the main reason is this: I have the strongest desire to nest EVER. This has been the case almost since I got here. In the past 5 years, I haven't ever spent more than 1.5 years at a time living in the same place. I feel myself reaching the end of that stage. I want a dog and some kitchen appliances. I'd like to see my family more than once every few months. And, maybe most importantly, when I went home for Christmas I felt like I belonged. Spending some time away from Raleigh has taught me to appreciate that.

So... what next?

Well... I'll spend the next few months taking advantage of my time and opportunities here. Taste foods I've always wanted to try. Travel around as much as possible. Get to know Basque Country as well as I possibly can in 5 months. In June, if all goes according to plan, I'm hiking the Camino de Santiago. Check that one off the bucket list!

When I move home, I'd like to start pursuing photography. I don't know if this needs to entail an internship, apprenticeship, going back to school, or just starting and seeing what happens, but I'm going to find out. Any professional photographers who read this, feel free to leave tips!

And of course get a dog and a KitchenAid.

Beyond that... who knows?