Snow Day!!!

What does it take to get a snow day? When I was living in Montreal, I distinctly remember more than once waking up to a half metre of snow on the ground (that would be almost 2 feet for you non-metrics), and everyone just took it in stride, life as usual. This morning I woke up to snow. I can't say how much in feet or metres, or even centimetres or inches, because really, there wasn't enough to actually measure depth. It only had 2 dimensions! It was enough to cover flat pieces of ground, but that's about it. Everyone was excited though. Keivan, who is 16, was the most excited. He didn't have school. They had a snow day. Two millimetres of snow (in the drifts) and it's a snow day. Geesh! The reason is that we are up on top of a mountain (more like a big hill, but a mountain in the north of spain sounds so much cooler). In fact the whole of Bilbao is surrounded by these mountains. It snowed on all of them last night, but as you go down towards the city it's just rain. Anyway, the reason is that the schoolbuses are afraid that with more snow in the forecast, they may not be able to get back down the hill in the afternoon to take kids home. What was funny to me was that Keivan was like "School is closed. the buses can't come!" and then ran out to take a bus to Bilbao to meet his friends. Does no one else see the irony?
Anyway, I meant to take a picture of the snow but it melted by 11.
The day's weather was a varying mixture of snow, rain, sleet and hail... The hail would cover the ground, then the rain would wash it away into clumpy puddles. Then the rain would turn into sleet and everything was slushy, then snow again... quite bizarre actually. Now there's thunder and lightning but no precipitation of any kind.
And there's the weather report for Bilbao.
I am going to go now because I am in the middle of a surreal msn chat....

Sometimes the elevator doesn't go all the way to the top...

For the past few months I have been here in Spain looking for a job.
I'm trying to work in the restaurant sector in preparation for my
cafe. It's been difficult going, and I gave myself until the beginning
of January before starting to look at my other options.
Enter other options.
A couple of weeks ago a Bahá'í in my community asked me to give her
English classes. I told her that I am not an English teacher and have
absolutely no experience teaching English. She said that she didn't
care and she wanted the classes anyway. She wants to learn English,
and she also wants to be able to read the Bahá'í Writings in English.
Now this is a tall order, considering sometimes the Writings are tough
reading for native English speakers. Anyway she talked me into it,
mostly with the naming of a price that she was willing to pay me if I
gave it a try, and so I did. Two lessons later, we're both happy with
the start we've made, and she wants to refer me to other people to
teach English. However, each class is a lot of work for me, in terms
of preparation, and I realise that I have a lot to learn about English
grammar... "because it sounds right" hardly works as an explanation
for why something is said this way and not that. A couple of months
ago, I had called around to a few places that were advirtising for a
native English speaker to teach English. The pay was good, the hours
were good, but when I called they wouldn't give me the time of day
because I had no certification. So last week I filled out an
application form for the CELTA course at International House in
Barcelona. They called me for an interview and have since sent me an
invitation to join the course starting February 21.
So here goes. After an intensive month of training I'll be qualified
to teach English as a Foreign Language. I chose a certification that
is internationally recognised. There are a lot of them that are only
valid if you work for a certain company or chain of language schools,
and a couple that are universally recognised.
It's kinda weird though. I had considered the idea of getting this
qualification before I came to Spain, as an option. I was going to do
one of the online courses, until I found out that that isn't enough to
qualify you as an English teacher. For months I've been battling with
this because it feels a little like I failed to do what I wanted to do
and this is plan B. However, I realise that it's more of a failure to
be here unemployed, and here is something that I can do and be good
at, and there are a lot of opportunities in Bilbao and all over Spain
for that matter.
I have fallen in love with Bilbao. I really want to stay here. I love
the city and the energy of it. I've been getting more and more invlved
in the Bahá'í community here and I feel like I can do something, I've
started a couple of study circles and I really want to see them
through. Also Sheida wants to become a tutor and wants to take
advantage of the fact that I'm here and available, and can do the
sequence of courses with her. For me, it's a big help because I can do
them in Spanish and she can help me, so we're really learning
together.
Next week I'm going to go and visit the language schools here and see
if I can secure a job before I go, or at least make an inroads.
The pre-course task is about 20 hours of work and it looks tough. It
gives me some indication of what the course itself will be like. The
lady who interviewed me, Vicky, explained that the vast majority of
the students pass because their entry requirements are pretty
exacting. That way, they can be sure that the people who are doing the
course are capable of doing well.
Anyway, the reason for the title of this blog entry is because the
first day I went to Carmen's house to give her her English class, I
was told that she lived on the 6th floor. I got in the elevator, and
pressed 5, which was as high as it went. I thought that maybe it was
the 6th floor if you count the ground floor as 1, or something like
that. So I get off the elevator and there are 3 doors. Now I know she
is supposed to be at 6th floor derecha, so I look at the door on the
left (which is on the right as you come up the stairs, which I've
figured out, is the way they do it) and it says 5 derecha. So then I'm
thinking, hmmmmmm I took the elevator to the top, but here I am on the
5th floor.... I head for the stairwell, and sure enough there's
another flight up! I go up, and there it is 6th right.... The elevator
didn't go all the way to the top! I thought that was just an
expression! Of course it's no reflection on Carmen or anyone who lives
on the 6th floor... it's the penthouse....

Truffles in Czech

Neisan just got back from a multileg journey that took him to Czech Republic and all over Spain. While he was in Czech Republic he met up with some friends of mine. I sent some truffles that I made for Sebastien and they took a series of pictures of him receiving the truffles, sharing the truffles, other people eating the truffles, but none of Sebastien actually eating them, which leads me to believe he didn't actually eat them... However, he also got Neisan to pose for some shots to match the ones we took in Lliria in August last year.

It's kinda funny, especially since Neisan wasn't in Lliria last August and had absolutely no idea what these crazy poses were all about. Thanks, Neisan for being a great sport, and thanks, Sebastien for all the memories revisited. All those pictures from Neisan are here.

There were also a number of ex-BWC staff, all of whose names I don't remember so instead of showing who I don't remember, won't name any of them. Also a couple of other friends, such as Jason Ighani and Shamim, and some random other people I met in Europe this summer. Enjoy the photos!

Guggenheim... again!

So they've put this booth in front of the Guggenheim, near the cubes,next to the river. It has a little camera and you stick a 1 euro coin in it and it makes you a 15 second video and e-mails you a link to it to share with your friends. I no longer have any idea who is reading this blog, so I don't know if you are my friend or not, but if you are, and would like to see a bad-quality, 15 second video of me with Nasim and Leila in front of the Guggenheim yesterday before I took them into the cubes, then click here. It was fun,and a cool idea.It was kind of funny to get an e-mail starting with "Hello krisia haynes, I am Guggenheim Museum Bilbao and I have a video of you...." Kinda scary actually.

Winter School in Lliria

I've just spent a few days in Lliria at Winter school. Here are some pictures that I took before my camera battery died.
Once again I was the vegetarian cook. The vegetarians loved the food, and so did the carnivores who got to try it. At the beginning of the school there were 3 vegetarians registered. By the 3rd day, we had a big problem, as there were 21 people claiming to be vegetarians! In Spain! Go figure! So for the next school we're going to have to be more strict about preregistration of meal choice. We had only prepared for about 10. I was actually asked to prepare the food for the whole school next time, which means about 150 people. I think I am going to have to say no to that. It's one thing preparing meals for 10 to 30 people.... 150 people, 2 meals a day for a week (breakfast is continental buffet)? I think not.
Anyway, back to the Winter school. It started last Wednesday, I got there on Monday. We did some shopping, hung out and prepared. At sometime in those initial days of preparation, we got word that Mr. Dunbar, a member of the Universal House of Justice, was coming on Friday and Saturday. I was ecstatic. When I was in Haifa, Mr. Dunbar used to(and still does, and has for years) give a class for the youth every Thursday. Topics varied from studies of different Writings of Shoghi Effendi, including the Foreword to God Passes By, the Dispensation of Bahá'u'lláh, and others, to personal stories of his travels and adventures, to question and answer sessions, and pretty much everything. I always felt that during his classes he was answering questions I had, without me even having to ask them!
During this Winter school, because I was cooking, I couldn't attend the sessions, but I did attend all of Mr. Dunbar's talks. Again, I felt like he was addressing things I was wondering about. The other cool thing was that it was in Spanish and I was able to understand every word.
Mr. Dunbar's class is one of the things I really miss about Haifa, and it was wonderful to have a taste of it again.

Tonight's Jam

I'm in Lliria again. This time I'm the vegetarian cook for Winter
School. Tonight after dinner a few of us came to my room and hung out
and played music. Here are some pics.




I got to play my new song for
Pitu, Neda, Hector, Shirin and Shaheen. It was so much fun. I really
missed that, hanging out and playing music. Hector and I reminisced
for a bit after dinner about our times in Haifa. I don't get to see
him much so it was nice to hang out and talk again.
This summer school is huge. There's a big bunch of youth and preyouth
and a few adults. Total is about 150 people, but the number is
expected to go up to about 400 or so this weekend because Mr. Dunbar
is coming! It'll be wonderful to see him again and hear him speak. He
is doing a special session on Friday and Saturday (i think those are
the days).
Another old friend I'll be seeing at this school is Rene from
Switzerland. He is coming tomorrow, just for a day, because he is
going back to Switzerland the next day, but 1day is better than
nothing :o)

Testing Photo Blog

Ok so this is the true Flickr test. I am sending an e-mail with a
photo attached. THe body of the message should end up as my blog, the
attached photo should automatically assimilate itself into the right
hand side of the page, and the subject line of the message should be
the title. If this works, I'll be majorly impressed with this Flickr
thing, since it only took a few minutes to set up. However, if you're
reading this and there's no picture, then Flickr gets no points from
me.

This picture is one of the few I took on the day that I took a trip to
San Sebastian with Mara and Mark. There was a protest about to be held
and we were passing through the square as Basque activists were
setting up. San Sebastian is an old, mostly Basque, beautiful city.
This was on one of the walls....

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

Merry Christmas

Today is Christmas day. I'm a Bahá'í and I don't do much for the Christmas thing. It's not that I don't celebrate, because I do believe in Christ as a Messenger from God Whose title is the Son of God. But as far as the whole tree and presents and what has come to be the typical Christmas stuff... not interested.
This has nothing to do with my blog today though. Just thought I'd mention that since it's Christmas today.
I started playing the guitar a while ago ago. In March 2002 after the Fast I bought a Takamine guitar from Adrian Green. It had belonged to Salman before that, so it was kind of mailroom guitar. It sounded really nice and was easy to play. I started doing some online lessons, and got together with Saman and David once a week for Wednesday night guitar night, which started with very high aspirations of guitar lessons, but it being me David and Sam, what generally happened was, David would show up, with or without his guitar. Sam would show up with hers. David would play around and show us something new he had done. Show us as in play it for us, not so much teach it to us... I would cook dinner while Sam played the latest Ben Harper song that she'd learned from tab. After dinner David would give us some impossibly difficult exercise to do to improve our skills (which were nonexistent at the time). After abuot 10 minutes of that we would get bored and start talking about what movies were in cinemas, and usually within 45 minutes we'd be sitting in the movie theatre. If not, we'd be in Ahuza or Ben Gurion or in the Hadar at a cafe drinking something yummy and laughing (sin guitarras, by the way). So that was class. Despite not really learning how to play anything at "class", we all agreed that it inspired us to play better. Sam and I would look at David's fingers in awe as they seemed to move effortlessly along the strings, and of course, we would practice during the week so that when Wednesday rolled around, we would have harder, bigger callouses on our left hand from the guitar strings. And if that's not proof of guitar playing, what is?
I've been playing the violin since I was 6. Well not really. I started with the viola. Well not really. The viola is bigger than a violin, and I was a small child, and there weren't really half size or 3/4 size violas, so what they did is take a full size violin and put viola strings on it and voila! Viola! At some point, I don't quite know when, I, for some reason wanted to play violin instead. I think I thought violin was cooler. So then I got a full size violin, which, oddly enough, felt just like a 3/4 size viola! Geesh. Anyway, the result is that for years I played the violin in various orchestras and stuff, and later picked up the viola again. I love playing the violin (and viola) although if you had spoken to me when I was 14, I'd be singing a different tune. I thank my parents often (in my head anyway, maybe not to their faces) for not having let me quit when I wanted to. And I often encourage parents of children who are playing instruments also not to let them quit. I can't tell you how many adults I've spoken to who said "I used to play .... (insert any instrument here).... I wish I had kept it up". Not one person have i ever met who said, "I played the .... I'm glad I quit." or "I'm an accomplished ....ist, I really should have quit."
But I digress.
Just before I went to Haifa I was in a band in Bermuda, F Natural. We had fun. We played songs, those guys were good. They encouraged me to sing. We took a poem I had written and put it to music. Performing on the stage for the first time, singing, was the scariest thing I have ever done in my life. Playing the violin has absolutely nothing on it. I didn't know what butterflies were until I stood there on that stage about to start. But although I didn't particularly like that song, or the melody, or even the poem very much, I liked the thought of singing, even if the actual act of it scared the crap out of me. All my life I've played an instrument that I can't sing with (unless you count the background "Lahs" I sang with Aube Mystique, our band in Montreal). With F Natural, I realised that there are songs in my head that I want to sing and play, and there is no way I could express how I hear the music, not with a violin. So I decided to learn the guitar.
Other than the Wednesday night session and the free online lessons, I have tried to avoid formal training. I prefer to get tips from friends like David and Eric, and more recently Hector and Riaz. I don't have a particular style, I love learning Tracy Chapman, Ben Harper, and Jason Mraz songs. I hate when I'm playing and people start saying "can you play...." because the answer will surely be no. I'm not interested in learning other people's songs so I can play in a group at campfires. The reason I'm learning guitar is to hear out loud the songs I hear in my head.
Now I have 3 songs that I can consider complete that I've written... "The Bubble Song", "The Free Will Song" and "Is That Enough?". It makes me happy. I'm doing what I want to do with my guitar.
A word about my guitar. Last February, I decided to give my guitar to my father. He had started singing and was discovering his voice. He was also writing poetry again and doing some amazing stuff. His instrument of choice is the drum and he plays really well while singin, which is a feat in itself! He was starting to write Calypso songs and I thought that I'd give him my guitar, so he could have the independence and freedom to put his own music to them. I remember the frustration I felt when I had a song in my head and was trying to explain to a guitarist friend how it should sound. The frustration was not just on my part, because it takes a lot of patience be told that instead of "frrrrink" you should be playing "flllleeeng", which were the only types of words that I could use to describe what I now realise are really simple guitar chords.
I taught Dad E some chords, but he didn't seem interested. I left the guitar with him anyway, just in case, and maybe one day he will learn, if only to be able to show people what he wants played in accompaniment, but his drum thing is really working for him, so if worst comes to worse, we'll have 2 nice guitars around. But since I was guitarless in February, I set about shopping for a new one. I didn't find anything I wanted within my pice range in Canada, so I went back to Haifa and the search continued. Eric was my patient, indulgent sidekick in the guitar quest, that led me to all of Haifa's malls and repeated visits to the Glass Mall in the Hadar. Funny enough, it was there, in the music store where I had been buying supplies for 2 years, that I found it. I had a strong feeling that there was a guitar out there that was "My Guitar" and my job in the shopping was to find it. This one called out to me from the rack where it stood, and after negotiating a great price, waiting for the next order to come in with the right colour, there it was.
Now, almost 2 years later, I love my guitar even more. We spend a lot of time together and it is helping me to be able to share the songs that are in my head, and it's really an added bonus for me that other people actually like the songs as well.
Now I have to work on my singing....

Haven't blogged for a while

Not because I have nothing to say... not because I don't like blogging... Not because I'm not doing anything... Not because I'm busy doing other things... I just haven't felt like it. That's all.
A few times in the past couple of weeks I've seen stuff or done stuff and thought "ooh I should blog that" and then, when sitting here in front of the computer, just haven't. Oh well. Life goes on :o)
I will try and recall some of those things right now...

I walk slower than everyone else I know. Peoplñe take my slow pace as reluctance to go wherever we are going. Nope. I just walk slower. I often tell people to go ahead and I'll catch up later. I usually get where we are going about 20 seconds later. What's the point of walking fast so you can get somewhere 20 seconds sooner, and still have to stand there for 20 seconds longer. If the bus comes at 1:20 and we are 5 minutes away from the bus stop, and it's 1:05, I much prefer to walk even slower than my normal pace, look in store windows, watch people go by, than to rush and get there at 1:10 and stand at a cold bus stop on a busy street. If I'm ate I'll hurry, but if I'm not, I'm going to take my time and enjoy the journey. So there.

People stare at me a lot. It doesn't bother me. It often bothers people who are with me. I often think "hey, if you don't have a life, and have nothing better to do than stare at me and wonder about mine, then so be it." I have been accused of pretending to ignore people staring at me. Apparently, sometimes it's so obvious that I couldn't really be ignoring it for real. I am. I am immune to starers. I am also becoming immune to people around me complaining about people staring. It happens, so what? On the odd occasion when I notice someone staring at me, and happen to meet their eyes, I usually smile at them. Often I get a smile back and that's nice.

Growing up in Bermuda has made me a weird person. I grew up doing some things that we do in Bermuda and I always thought were normal. NOw a lot of these things are "weird". I say good morning or good afternoon to the bus driver and the shopkeeper and the ticket guy at the Funicular, and the other people who are at the bus stop when I get there, and pretty much everyone who I deal with. Even if I have never seen them before. I also thank you. Apparently this is weird according to some sources. So I started observing. It's true... most people don't. Hmmm... I decided I wouldn't stop doing it. The other day, I was shopping with some people from my cooking class. There was a lady (whose name I never forget, because it's Violetta), and a guy (whose name I always forget, it's either Juan, Ramon, or Jose... something typically spanish). We went to the butcher to get some morcilla (which I had no idea what it was, however I later found out it was blood sausage made with rice... but that's another story). When the butcher-lady asked who was next, Violetta asked for 1 and a half kilos of morcilla. Juan-Ramon-Jose interrupted and said very pointedly, "Buenos dias". The butcher was like "huh?" so he said "Primero, buenos dias. Despues, queremos un kilo y media de eso morcilla." She smiled, said buenos dias to all of us and got the sausage. I thought it was nice. It reminded me of a couple of things:
Flashback #1: It's winter 2000. Caroline is meeting me for lunch at Rock Island. She comes running in with Trimmingham's bags, she's been shopping. We sit with our soup or whatever it is and she tells me that the woman in Trimmingham's is a bitch. I was like what happened? She said that got the stuff she wanted and went to the cashier to pay for it, she had stopped in on the way to work, and so was already late. She put the stuff on the counter and the woman just looked at her. Caroline looked back and after a few seconds said, can you hurry, I'm late for work. The woman kept looking at her and finally said "Good morning" very pointedly, and obviously not meaning it in the literal sense. Caroline was like "what?" so the woman said it again "Good. Morning." Caroline got the point, said good morning and the woman rang up her sale, wished her a nice day and Caroline took her stuff and left. In the retelling, she explained how offended she was that this woman wouldn't ring her up unless she said good morning, even if she didn't mean it, and she felt like this woman was very nervy, trying to put her in her place. I don't agree with the attitude of the woman in question, but I did feel that it was kind of rude of Caroline to walk into a store at 8:30 in the morning, come into contact with someone in order to do business, and not say good morning, or any kind of greeting. I think this is definitely something culrtural, so if you do go to Bermuda, try and remember to acknowledge people.
Flashback #2: It's somewhere around 1988, it's a school day. I wake up, brush my teeth and go downstairs to get breakfast. The radio is on, my parents are in the kitchen. In my head, I said good morning, but apparently I didn't open my mouth and say the words (you know how it is sometimes early in the morning). I walk into the kitchn to get breakfast. My father is standing there blocking my way, looking at me with a funny look on his face.
me: "What?"
him: ...same look...
me: "What?"
him: "You don't walk into a room and meet people there and not say good morning!"
me: "I said good morning"
him: "Marcille, did you hear her say good morning?"
mom: "No"
dad e: "Go back upstairs and start again"
me (inside my head): I said good morning didn't I? Why do I have to go all the way back upstairs? This is stupid.
me (returning downstairs): "Morning mommy and dad e."
them (with way too much enthusiasm): "Good morning sunshine" (or something to that effect)....
And so continued what was the last morning I ever didn't greet my parents when I saw them
I used to think my parents were strict and weird. Okay so they're weird - they have to be. All parents are. But they're people. And they're wonderful people. And we lived in a place where people were supposed to teach children to treat people like people, just like they were taught by their parents, in Barbados, and in Bermuda. You see people, you greet them. You see people, you acknowledge their presence. What took place that morning stuck in my mind... (what also stuck in my mind was the second time I came downstairs, there was an announcement on the radio that all Government schools (including mine) would be closed that day because of the threat of an oncoming tropicl storm... it was a false alarm as usual, but we had a day off from school, and I also remember thinking that if I had had my radio on in my room that morning I would never even have come downstairs and had the good morning incident. The fact that 16 years later I remember the whole thing with extreme clarity indicates that I was meant to learn that lesson that morning.). Caroline lived in a place that was different. People generally only come into contact with other people for a reason, and don't talk to each other unless it's necessary.
I like saying good morning to people. I like greeting and being greeted with a smile and a nod or a good morning, whether it's by strangers at the bus stop or the family in the house. I've also noticed that a few weeks ago when I used to get to the bus stop and everyone was staring down the street in the direction of the bus that was not yet in sight, and said "buenos dias" I used to get a few confused looks and mumbled replies. Yesterday morning, I got there and the 2 ladies there who were having a conversation looked at me and smiled and said "buenos dias" when I arrived. How cool is that?!!! And I didn't even have to be rude about it like the lady in Trimmingham's!

"Weed Street"

I went to the Old City this morning. I love Casco Viejo. It's an old,
pedestrian city with cobblestone streets, cathedrals, buskers, bums,
the works.
In Bermuda, the "city" is Hamilton, which is nothing like what most
people think of when they hear the word "city". The main area where
people are is called "Reid Street". I won't describe it, it's too
different from anything that most people have as a reference. If I
find some pics, I'll link them. But anyway, when I think of hanging
out in "Tahn" in Bermuda, I think of Reid Street. In Casco Viejo, I
realise that my favourite place is a street which, until today, I have
never been able to find on the first try. It's a curved, weird street,
because it's not parallel to abything and doesn't seem to join up
where it should. It seems a lot like Diagon Alley in Harry Potter...
If you don't tap your wand on the exact brick and say the right words,
it isn't actually there. THis street is full of clothes that I like,
Indian cotton, loose comfortable stuff, the shoe stores have nice
looking comfy shoes, everything is just chill. So today I went there,
looking for a notebook, but I got there at 1:30 when everything was
closing for lunch (those that actually open in the morning, as I'm
finding that Casco Viejo doesn't really do mornings - and "afternoon"
doesn't actually start until 4:30 or 5 p.m.). So I was walking around,
looking in the store windows behind their locked gates, and I kid you
not, for the first time I realised that every other store on this
street sold paraphernalia for smoking marijuana, growing marijuana, or
covering up the scent of smoking marijuana. I honestly didn't notice
before! One store was posing as an agricultural supply store, but the
books in the window were actually about growing your own weed, there
were fluorescent bulbs, fertilizer, the works. Why didn't I notice
this before? Every store window had bongs in it, there were also
candle and incense stores (which I really liked, part of why I liked
that street), and of course the clothing stores that I like. So I am
now realizing that just as in Bermuda my favourite street was Reid
Street, here in Casco Viejo my favourite street happens to be "Weed
Street". I know that I won't be visiting any of the garden supply
stores there, and the candles and incense that I may buy will not be
for covering up the smell of smoke from anything else, and if I do buy
any clothes there, I will make sure that there's no grass in the
pockets (remind me to tell you about THAT story one day!)

Why is Everything in Spanish???

OK, so I'm in Spain, of course everything is in Spanish. I just logged
on to Blogger to do some editing and adding, and the whole site came
up in Spanish. This is agreat option for those of us in Spain who
speak Spanish and not English, and it's really thoughtful of the sites
that have the multilanguage option to do this.... but what about those
of us here who, once we've found all the characters on this jacked-up
spanish keyboard, try to go to our favourite sites, and find them
speaking a different language? I haven't checked my Hotmail for
months. MSN looks like it has interesting stuff here and there, but it
all being in Spanish, and no way to change, I lose interest. Google is
smart. At the bottom of the page there's Google.com in English. Always
in the same place (this being Spain, they also have Google.com in
Galego, Google.com in Euskara, and Google.com in Catalan). What's up
with that? I found out when I got here, that Spanish people don't
speak Spanish, they speak Castillian - I think the only difference
between this and the Spanish spoken in south and central america, is
the lisp on the Cs and Zs and the use of the informal 2nd person.
There's also a bunch of slang, but that's to be expected. Spain also
has some regional languages, hence, gallego, euskera and catalan.
Euskera is Basque. I'm in Pais Vasco (Basque country). Bilbao is the
capital of the province of Vizcaya, one of the Spanish Basque
provinces. There are lots of Basque people here, so the signs are all
in Euskera and in Castillian. But from what I understand, everyone,
including the Baasque people, speaks Castillian, so the Euskera on the
signs is more of a cultural thing, which I think is nice.
Last night I went to a concert. Yesterday afternoon I saw on a notice
board that there was a cello concert at the "Catedral de Bilbao". It
seemed simple enough, I had 2 hours to get ready, so I headed home,
showered, changed, packed my capoeira stuff, and headed back into town
to find the Cathedral. On the way home, I asked a lady at the bus stop
where the "Catedral de Bilbao" was. She started pointing and
gesticulating and speaking very quickly in Spanish (Castillian
actually!) and a few times mentioned the Catedral de Begoña. Now, I
knew I had said Catedral de Bilbao, and if it was supposed to be the
one in Begoña, wouldn't they have said that? So I stopped her and
said, no not Begoña, BIlbao. Well, she gave me a look that transcends
language barriers, as if to say "you stupid idiot" and then told me
that there was no Catedral de Bilbao. Hmmmm.... I went back to the
message board, which was in the doorway of a store about 3 doors down
from the bus stop, and sure enough there it was, Catedral de Bilbao.
So I'm thinking, even if there isn't something actually called that,
maybe it's just commonly known as that and when people in Bilbao say
"It's at the Cathedral" they know what they are talking about. This is
my Bermuda mentality kicking in. In Bermuda, if something is at "The
Cathedral" everyone knows that whatever it is is taking place at St.
Theresa's Cathedral in Hamilton, despite the fact that Bermuda has
over 300 churches on its 22 square miles. I got home and as I arrived,
Pejman was leaving home. He's the father of the house I'm staying in.
I asked him where the Catedral de Bilbao was. He said "there is a
cathedral in Begoña" so I'm thinking, hmmm.... shouldn't the place
wrongly referred to as CAtedral de Bilbao, actually be in Bilbao? So I
asked, "is there a cathedral in Bilbao?" he answered that yes, there
is one in the old city. The Catedral de Santiago. I knew the place, I
had seen it a few days before with Mark and Mara, and in fact every
time I go to the old city. There are actually 2 churches there. When I
got inside I asked Neisan the same question. He told me Begoña first
then Santiago. Since I only had half an hour to get there, and Begoña
was way out of the way and I had no idea where to start looking for
the catedral there, I decided to check out Santiago, and if I didn't
find the cathedral, I could have a cup of coffee somewhere and hang
out for an hour or so before my capoeira class.
I arrived at the Catedral de Santiago at exactly 8 p.m., and thank
goodness I didn't go to Begoña, because it was there. I got a seat in
front (the place was full but being alone, I managed to get the other
people in the pew to squeeze over and make space). The concert was
being performed by 4 cellists, all Basque. Their names were all Basque
(I've figured it out... Basque names seem to contain more than the
normal number of Xs or Zs) Actually I have the program... they were
Kepa de Diego Cortazár, Diego Gil Arbizu, Aritz Goméz Uranga, and Jon
Larraz Mozo.
The first piece was a cello solo. It lasted half an hour. It was
painful. I had trouble distinguishing it as music. It had no timing,
no rhythm, no key, and the guy turned the page at least 6 times (I
started counting after the boredom had set in, so it could have been
as many as 10 times). The little girl at the other end of the pew, she
was about 9 or 10 years old, obviously felt the same way about the
piece that I did. Wheenver the cellist made a particularly unique
sound with his instrument, we would look at each other and raise an
eyebrow or smile behind a hand. I decided that coffee in a nearby cafe
was not such a bad idea despite having found the concert. However, the
piece finally ended (after 5 or 6 false endings that felt like the
piece was over but turned out to be wishful thinking). I figured this
was the musical equivalent to some art I saw at the Guggenheim.
Sometimes you look at a painting and see that there is canvas and
paint and colours, all the elements are there, however, the way they
are brought together makes you wonder what it was all for. The
difference was that at the Guggenheim, when you see these, you can
keep walking. Here it was like being made to stare at it for half an
hour with my eyes taped open. UGH. However, after this interesting
start, there was a duet for 2 cellos, which was absolutely wonderful.
The next piece, which all 4 cellists played in (as well as all the
pieces thereafter) was, what I now realise, my favourite piece of
classical music. It's Adagio by Albinoni. It's usually performed by a
string quartet, but of course the cellos played all the parts, and it
was exquisite. It more than made up for the 30 minutes of torture at
the beginning. In fact, it moved me to tears. I've been listening to
and performing classical music all my life, and my father's love for
it got transferred to me from an early age. I didn't realise how much
I loved this piece of music though, until last night.
The rest of the concert was also excellent, and finished just in time
for me to make it to my 10 p.m. capoeira class.
But that piece of music, played by Basque people, in Spain, spoke to
me directly, in a language I could understand.

alternative activities

last night i went out. it was saturday night and isn't that what people do? sheida had found out from some friends that there are some gyms in and around bilbao that are trying to offer alternative healthy activities to people on saturday nights. we were going to a free capoeira class from 10 p.m. to midnight. i'm really and truly in Spain. I have always loved the alternative timing of everything here... bedtime is generally after midnight, morning starts much later, and of course, there's siesta. Anyway, if the thought of a capoeira class at 10 p.m. is strange, stranger still was the fact that it was competing with a yoga class and african dancing at the same time, brazilian dancing and squash at 11, and then there was the swimming pool aerobics from midnight to 1:30 a.m.
Can you imagine, you have your dinner at 9:30, like usual, change into your workout clothes, take the subway (which runs 24 hours a day) to San Ignazio, and have a nice yoga warmup followed by a swimming aerobics class... and you're home by 2!

Cereal Surprise

Life in Spain has been wonderful so far, and full of little surprises. Sometimes it's not the big things that make you happy... Growing up, I always classified cereals into 2 kinds, the "good" cereals, like all bran and raisin bran, and shredded wheat, and pretty much anything that advertised itself as a source of dietary fibre, or makes you chew really hard, or tastes bad and isn't covered in sugar. Then there were the "bad" cereals, like count chocula and lucky charms and cocoa puffs, froot loops, cookie crisp and cinnamon toast crunch and anything that had sugar as one of the top 2 ingredients, had marshmallows in it (you know the ones that are hard and crunchy when they're dry but are magically transformed when you add the milk?), turns your milk a different colour (smurf cereal... blue milk!!!) or had a cartoon character advertising them. There was also a grey area for things like frosted mini wheats (little shredded wheats with a layer of sugar thick enough to peel off and eat as candy) and rice krispies (as advertised by snap, crackle and pop). But in general, cereals for the most part fit into these categories. There are people who like the good cereals in the morning, they wake up to a bowl of muesli or bran stix or something, and there are others who like the bad stuff, a bowl of chocolate milk with marshmallows would do if it were socially acceptable, but since it isn't (or not where i come from, anyway) the cereal comes with little balls of puffed wheat or rice as well so you can start the morning guilt free.
This morning, I went to the cereal cupboard to get some cereal. I must tell you, I'm not really a cereal person, mostly because I don't like milk, or the way it makes the cereal soggy. But anyway, this morning, feeling healthy, while preparing a cup of mint tea with fresh mint from the garden, I picked up the box of All Bran and poured a bowl. I was surprised right away. At home All Bran is sticks of bran, similar in flavour and texture to cardboard. This all bran looked exactly like spoon size shredded wheat, but darker. This was a pleasant surprise. I liked the looks of it. I poured the bebida de soja, as it is called in spanish, and dug in, quickly before the cereal gets soggy. With the first bite, my eyes flew open in surprise. Hidden inside each little pocket of bran is a morsel of dark chocolate. Not milk chocolate of course, because that would be bad for you! Dude! I looked at the box again and there it was in tiny italic letters underneath the big bold All Bran was choco. I like it here :o)

I love gmail!!!

i love gmail! it's so easy to keep my inbox clear and everything all
organised!!!!!
as i read messages, i label them with as many things as i want, then i
answer it or put a star if i need to answer it later or follow up,
then i click archive... just so! it almost makes me feel like an
organised person...and as a reward when my inbox is clear, i get a
link to google news... i've actually started reading the news!!! dude!
and all i have to do when i have time is go to my starred box, answer
the mails, remove stars and ta-da! they disappear into the right
places.
Like I said in my links, if you want a gmail account, drop me a
comment and I'll send you an invite....