Well, its Yom Kippur, the day of atonment for the Jewish people. Here I am, in Spain, eating, well, nothing.
After a difficult, but apparently, successful explaination to my Señora the basis of the day and its one major element (fasting) I am sitting here, foodless and, well, darnit, a little hungry. My señora took pity on me, and made me the largest mug of coffee this morning that I have ever seen in Spain. I spilled half of it out because I felt like it was a little , like, cheating. But, yes, I had coffee, in order to avoid a headache. Okay?
Anyways, its been different here.
You see, last year, Yom Kippur was a breeze. A Saturday, I believe, I sat around with family, went to synogogue, watched food network, and voila, time to break the fast. Alas, here, not see easy. First and formost, EVERYONE is eating. Okay, not everyone, but it seems like in each class, at least on student is munching on something. Second off, I am BORED. There is very little to do here besides eat. You can walk around, and then walk around some more.. So...I am HUNGRY. Also, I pass about seventeen thousnd little bakeries, selling delicious baked good, with people sitting outside, drinking cafes, while I walk around, and I cannot join them.
Its much harder to do all this here than back home, but oh well, a challange is a challange, and I will do it. Whatever.
Alright, outside of that, nothing new, nothing exciting.
Love you all, miss you lots
PS HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEÑA!!!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Pobrecita!
The Pobrecita I am referring to in the title of this post is Spain, I am actually unsure whether it is a feminine or masculine noun, but judging by the A at the end, I will assume, for the sake of this title, that Spain, is in fact, a lady. A poor little lady.
So why do I exclaim ¨¨Pobrecita¨ towards the nation I currently call my home? Is it the floundering economy? The lack of respect when it comes to European nations? The violence of ETA and turmoil in Pais Vasco? Nahh...its the coffee man, its always the coffee.
Well, here is a little thing, I was thinking about earlier today, when walking through the city of Pomegranite. Café, in english, is a classy little coffee shop, something Parisian, ideal. If one was to say, ¨I went to a café in Europe,¨ the image of a large plaza, bird flying about, old people walking in pairs, maybe a little rain falling, pops in the mind, doesn´t it?
Come on. It does. The idea, the romantic idea of a café, your tiny mug of coffee, your sense of emotional fulfillment. Its there, I know it is.
Well, what if I were to say, ¨I went to a cafeteria in Europe¨? All of a sudden, you imagine, your lunchlady, a pepto colored tray, hair nets, stacks of premade cheeseburgers heated under red lamps. Alas, in Spain, a café IS a cafeteria. And, so, it is done.
Well, what I am getting at here is that Spain got the short end of the stick, somehow, English defined café, a french word, as the classy European coffeeshop, and caféteria as, well, worse than a diner. Ouch.
Maybe its inherent bias, Don´t we all look at the French to be the creators and perpetrators of all things sensual (here, I do not mean SEXUAL, although that works too, I mean Art! Philosophy! Fashion! TASTE!)? Or it may be a fluke, a coincidence, a misnomer that developed into a term, that led to a permanent bias for anyone taking in the cultura of Spain.
However it happend, it did. And now, when I go grab a café con leche (which itself, significantly less present in the US economy taste better and is more user friendly than the ominpresent espresso of Italian descent), I am sitting not in a café but infact a cafeteria, without lunch lady Doris, but in a grand plaza, with all the old people and birds I can handle.
So, I pity Spain, not because of real reasons, but because somehow, their coffee shops are lost in translation.
So why do I exclaim ¨¨Pobrecita¨ towards the nation I currently call my home? Is it the floundering economy? The lack of respect when it comes to European nations? The violence of ETA and turmoil in Pais Vasco? Nahh...its the coffee man, its always the coffee.
Well, here is a little thing, I was thinking about earlier today, when walking through the city of Pomegranite. Café, in english, is a classy little coffee shop, something Parisian, ideal. If one was to say, ¨I went to a café in Europe,¨ the image of a large plaza, bird flying about, old people walking in pairs, maybe a little rain falling, pops in the mind, doesn´t it?
Come on. It does. The idea, the romantic idea of a café, your tiny mug of coffee, your sense of emotional fulfillment. Its there, I know it is.
Well, what if I were to say, ¨I went to a cafeteria in Europe¨? All of a sudden, you imagine, your lunchlady, a pepto colored tray, hair nets, stacks of premade cheeseburgers heated under red lamps. Alas, in Spain, a café IS a cafeteria. And, so, it is done.
Well, what I am getting at here is that Spain got the short end of the stick, somehow, English defined café, a french word, as the classy European coffeeshop, and caféteria as, well, worse than a diner. Ouch.
Maybe its inherent bias, Don´t we all look at the French to be the creators and perpetrators of all things sensual (here, I do not mean SEXUAL, although that works too, I mean Art! Philosophy! Fashion! TASTE!)? Or it may be a fluke, a coincidence, a misnomer that developed into a term, that led to a permanent bias for anyone taking in the cultura of Spain.
However it happend, it did. And now, when I go grab a café con leche (which itself, significantly less present in the US economy taste better and is more user friendly than the ominpresent espresso of Italian descent), I am sitting not in a café but infact a cafeteria, without lunch lady Doris, but in a grand plaza, with all the old people and birds I can handle.
So, I pity Spain, not because of real reasons, but because somehow, their coffee shops are lost in translation.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Hey, Its Getting Cold
So, its finally getting a bit chilly here in Spain, dark and gloomy! Woo!!!
Well, here I am...chillin in Spain. Another day, another nothingness.
Really, I´ve got nothing to say today, just been in class and chilling here.
I miss you guys loads, I hope tomorrow will be more eventful.
love,
me
Well, here I am...chillin in Spain. Another day, another nothingness.
Really, I´ve got nothing to say today, just been in class and chilling here.
I miss you guys loads, I hope tomorrow will be more eventful.
love,
me
Monday, October 6, 2008
On The Ham Situation
Spain is the land of ham. Yes. Delcious pig. The one four legged animal I do not eat.
SO, I came in knowing deep down that this would be difficult. However, I did not realize the extreme feelings of the Spanish toward the little Oinker.
Ham is everywhere. Jamon Cerrano is essentially the national food, and pig legs hang in kitchens throughout Spain, in grocery stores and in restaurants. In one restaurant, Pig legs serve as edible ceiling decoration, hanging down like twinkly lights from the sky, displaying the flavor of Spain. I´ve seen these pig legs discarded on the streets, maybe eaten after some sort of raucous celebration, pig legs chilling on kitchen tables, pig legs carving competinions on tv. Yes, solid pig legs, hooves still attached, are a motif here in Spain.
When I tell fellow students I do not eat jamon, the next question is a shocked, mouth gaping ¨What Do You Eat, then?¨ staring, eyes wide. How is it possible to survive without eating SPains, seemingly, only meat.
There is chicken, rarely, usually on weekends, essentially special occasions in my house, there is TUNA, a constant flavor which luckily I adore because it seems to be the next after ham in popularity, and there is cheese. Not a meat, but a replacement for what should be there.
Two days a week my señora packs me a lunch, bocadillos (sandwichs on french bread) that consist of cheese or chicken, and nothing else. She sat me down two days ago and apologized for the lack of variety of fillings in my bocadillos. She explained,¨Ï would pack you something different, but you don´t eat ham! I could make you so many more things if you did, I could put ceranno, chorizo, salchicias, deli ham..etc. etc.(I think she listed more, but I cannot remember right now) But all I can make you are chicken breast or cheese sandwiches ¨ She was almost upset. I told her i didnt mind, I love chicken, I love cheese. I´m okay. But still, its the ham, man, that hurts her....
So, here I am, surrounded by the one meat I can´t eat ( even the hamburgers usually contain jamon!) eating around it in free tapas and replacing my meat intake with carb carb carbs!! So, that is what its like, living in a place where ham is king, and beef is practically as common as lamb (which means I have had it once).
Man I miss chicken.
And everyone at home>! Love you all!
SO, I came in knowing deep down that this would be difficult. However, I did not realize the extreme feelings of the Spanish toward the little Oinker.
Ham is everywhere. Jamon Cerrano is essentially the national food, and pig legs hang in kitchens throughout Spain, in grocery stores and in restaurants. In one restaurant, Pig legs serve as edible ceiling decoration, hanging down like twinkly lights from the sky, displaying the flavor of Spain. I´ve seen these pig legs discarded on the streets, maybe eaten after some sort of raucous celebration, pig legs chilling on kitchen tables, pig legs carving competinions on tv. Yes, solid pig legs, hooves still attached, are a motif here in Spain.
When I tell fellow students I do not eat jamon, the next question is a shocked, mouth gaping ¨What Do You Eat, then?¨ staring, eyes wide. How is it possible to survive without eating SPains, seemingly, only meat.
There is chicken, rarely, usually on weekends, essentially special occasions in my house, there is TUNA, a constant flavor which luckily I adore because it seems to be the next after ham in popularity, and there is cheese. Not a meat, but a replacement for what should be there.
Two days a week my señora packs me a lunch, bocadillos (sandwichs on french bread) that consist of cheese or chicken, and nothing else. She sat me down two days ago and apologized for the lack of variety of fillings in my bocadillos. She explained,¨Ï would pack you something different, but you don´t eat ham! I could make you so many more things if you did, I could put ceranno, chorizo, salchicias, deli ham..etc. etc.(I think she listed more, but I cannot remember right now) But all I can make you are chicken breast or cheese sandwiches ¨ She was almost upset. I told her i didnt mind, I love chicken, I love cheese. I´m okay. But still, its the ham, man, that hurts her....
So, here I am, surrounded by the one meat I can´t eat ( even the hamburgers usually contain jamon!) eating around it in free tapas and replacing my meat intake with carb carb carbs!! So, that is what its like, living in a place where ham is king, and beef is practically as common as lamb (which means I have had it once).
Man I miss chicken.
And everyone at home>! Love you all!
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