Because Spain: The Bocadillo

THE bocadillo

The bocadillo is a Spanish icon that never fails to make me smile. To explain, I will start with a definition, or rather, a distinction. A "sandwich" is a weak excuse for nutritional sustenance consisting of a little something between sliced bread. A bocadillo refuses to be in the same room with this Wonder Bread abomination. Only baguette-style bread is suitable, with cheese, ham, embutido, or the pinnacle of health, tortilla (the Spanish potato omelette), wedged within to coalesce as the perfect snack.

Now maybe you're thinking, "What's so funny about that? That sounds delicious." Well, it's not so much the bocadillo itself that gives me a chuckle, but rather its cultural pervasiveness and general ubiquity here in Spain. And remember, I said snack.

The Spanish schedule differs from American and British tradition in many ways, lunch being an incongruity of particular importance. While lunchtime in the States is generally soup, salad, or dare I say it, a sandwich, that's eaten around noon to hold you over until dinner, it is the principal meal of the Spanish day and falls anywhere between one and four in the afternoon. This being a bit of a long stretch to endure on an empty stomach, the Spanish sneak in a little something called merienda after breakfast but before lunch, (and after lunch but before dinner!): A "snack."

Perhaps working at high schools has given me a stilted perspective, but I say "snack" because during the school day my students have two recreos, or recesses, at which time I fight my way through them like a salmon upstream as they overflow into the courtyards, inevitably armed with either a bocadillo in hand or a euro to trade for one at the school store. Perhaps this scene sounds familiar to Americans who have experienced K-12 public schooling?

The bocadillo: In America, it's lunch. In Spain, it's a snack!

The phenomena really hit me when we went on a field trip to London last year. In addition to extra socks and underwear, not one, but most of my students (and the other teachers!), had packed their suitcases with embutido, or cold cuts, to make bocadillos. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think this would happen in the States. In a "because Spain" kind of way, I guess it makes sense: It's the perfect pairing of Spain's rich embutido selection with the oh-so-essential Spanish bread.

This is a real photo of a bocadillo that I really ate. After a hike one day a generous friend made me this masterpiece, and who was I, the foreigner, to question? I will admit, though, that another friend and eyewitness confirmed that this was indeed a ridiculous exaggeration. The bocadillo culture, however, is not. Even though my students ate breakfast an hour ago, and are going to have another recess in another hour, and then go home for lunch after that, the bocadillo does not constitute a meal. It's a snack.

om nom nom

Okay, okay, I will take a moment to reign myself in and include a disclaimer before you begin with the "but's". It's true that the bocadillo can, on occasion, be a meal. Maybe you're in a rush. Maybe you just want a little something for lunch on the beach. Maybe you're traveling on the cheap (like me!). There are exceptions.

Have you ever eaten a Spanish bocadillo? Do you find it a funny phenomena like me?

A Very Expat Thanksgiving

togetherness

"They're called yams?"

"Is that a kind of jam?"

"Wait, so how do you pronounce ham?"

That's how the conversation went this weekend when I celebrated Thanksgiving in Durango. Yes, this weekend, the first weekend of December. Because of its uniquely American heritage, (okay, Canada can take some credit), Thanksgiving does not coincide with the Spanish calendar, and so, on November 22, in place of turkey and pie, I went to work and spent the evening sneezing in bed. Luckily, some new friends had this holiday under control and we celebrated expat style--in December! 

Being dwarfed by Christmas and secular in nature, Turkey Day is, at least in my experience, one of the holidays least burdened by tradition and more open to improvisation. That's not to say that there are no traditions: On Thanksgiving, there should be turkey. That much is clear. But maybe you're far from home. Or you celebrate with friends. Maybe you have an annual reservation at Mr. Wong's. It's okay, Thanksgiving is flexible.

My students are sometimes confused by a holiday whose only contemporary pillar consists of a very large meal, but I personally like that Thanksgiving is a bit open-ended. It invites new groups of people to share new experiences. The point is that turkey and table bring people together, to give thanks.

And I have a lot to be thankful for. Enough to fill this little piece of cyberspace, after all. As a student and an expat, I've had my share of improvised Thanksgivings. The panicked phone call, "Mom, how do you cook a turkey!" never fails to make me smile. Last year, my friends in Galicia welcomed me with a meal I will never forget, and in my university days the culinary adventures were quite varied but always memorable. 

This year was a classic Thanksgiving 101 endeavor, complete with power outages and calls to home. 

In the end, we were all very full, and I was touched by the experience. Everyone dug into the food and the conversation. People piled a bit of everything onto their plates and requested recipes--and even seconds! This particularly made an impression on me. I can usually count on a laugh when I show my students a photo of the typical Thanksgiving plate loaded with food, because it is followed by at least one exclamation of "Que asco!," or, "how disgusting!" The Spanish typically eat their meals in platos, or courses, so the single American food-mountain plate that is Thanksgiving, not to mention the foreign dishes like stuffing and yams, don't always meet the appeal of their expectations. This weekend, however, was a meeting of open minds and empty stomachs, and I think that everyone learned something new.

It can be a bit of an effort to bring old traditions to a new home, but the results are absolutely worthwhile. To savor a little taste of home in a new place, to reminisce the quirky habits of your family with new friends, and to share the culture of your native country with a new one, all weave a story that you can look back on during the Thanksgivings to come. 

To keep your appetite, and because I know you're curious, I will procede to narrate the night in photos.

On a chilly afternoon in early December, 

I arrived at the perfect moment to witness the auspicious beginnings of our Turkey Day bird.

Completely unopposed to (and actually rather experienced in) floor-cooking, 

I was excited to join the turkey basting fun.

A few fuses had been blown, 

but the Thanksgiving dream team had everything under control.

Though perhaps not everything was appropriate for guest viewing; 

better shut the door to switch turkey pans on the floor.

Once phase one of the turkey mission was complete, it was on to phase two: The side dishes.

Although this meal was American style, we stepped aside to make room for a Spanish pro.

Not sure how this happened, but it was inevitable.

Even Thanksgiving can't take the tortilla off of a Spanish table! 

Have you celebrated Thanksgiving abroad? Was it an adventure?

Lovely Lisboa

After an impromptu trip to the Canary Islands last year, (and thanks to a little help from home!), Rob and I managed to catch up with our original itinerary in--wait for it--Lisbon! 

colorful streets

casual castles

monuments and monuments

Portugal, once a naval empire famous for producing explorers of the likes of Vasco da Gama, is today one of those little countries you usually hear about as they list off debt figures for the Eurozone. While I can't speak for how Ireland or Greece have reacted to recent economic hurdles, Portugal really left a positive impression of its character. Instead of despairing, the the country seems to be digging deeper to redefine its character. A prominent ad campaign highlighted a reorganization of priorities, wryly noting that while superfluous costs like shoe sales had gone down in the last year, essential commodity purchases had increased. 

Lisbon is a city that shines in its senescence. I was surprised when someone described it is a city that you either love or you hate, but that's probably because I loved it and hadn't imagined an alternative! People who don't fall for Lisbon complain of its decadence, but I think that there is a difference between an ancient city that is crumbling and a history that continues to be vibrant through continued innovation and creativity. To me, both the well-preserved and re-envisioned architecture added a pleasant air of nostalgia to an atmosphere that struck me as quirky and effervescent. With all the European charm but none of the big-time hassle, Portugal's capital city is the perfect place to mingle with tourists and locals to embrace everything the city has to offer.

there were a whole series of buildings like this, but I managed this quick shot from the bus!

creativity and colors

not a bad way to take your coffee

Rob and I made our way from the airport to the city center on the aerobus with no problems--public transport is one thing this city seems to be doing right! Between the art-deco train station, the classic yellow trolleys, and the neon metro stops, which you could (and we did!) confuse with art, getting around is not only hassle-free but surprisingly pleasant. A green via card costs just a few euro and it will get you just about everywhere.

train

trolly

metro

We checked in at our pousada then set out to explore. Our hotel was called Dom José, but the staff were so friendly and the building was so quaint that I doubt you could go very wrong on accommodations. Charm seemed to radiate from the city. While Rob and I had our morning coffee we mused at the strange music. "What is that, a didgeridoo?" Rob wondered. 

Yes, it was a didgeridoo. 

even a miser like me had to shell out some change for this guy

Rob and I, having now become quite accustomed to going with the flow, enjoyed the sights of Lisbon as we stumbled upon them in turn. We ran into some luck when we found the San Justa lift. Completed in 1902, the stylish vertical elevator connects the city center, the barrio baixo, with the trendy barrio alto above. Rob and I waited in line to go up, and were the last people allowed to ride for the night! At the top we took in the view and indulged in a delicious, touristy, and of all things, Italian, dinner! 

 

The next day we visited the San Jerónimo monastery and, exhausted at the end of our trip, took a pleasant nap by the tower of Belém. The beautiful UNESCO sites are symbolic of Portugal's age of discovery, and the monastery is the location of Vasco da Gama's tomb. This is also the birthplace of the delicious pasteis de belem, or natas as they're called in Spanish. We decided to walk back to the Lisbon proper to pass the afternoon, and I was surprised by how quickly the city faded into country. The quiet streets and small gardens could easily be confused with the ones in Galicia. 

Our time in Lisbon was well spent, but far too short. Hopefully Rob and I will make it back soon, and maybe on a pre-scheduled flight this time!

Monasterio de los Jerónimos de Belém

torre de Belém (as seen from our napping spot)

living art

a random encounter

hidden walkways

the 25th of April bridge

Have you ever been to Lisbon? Has an impromptu trip ever delightfully surprised you? 

Getting to Know You

Bilbao from above

Moving to a new place has its ups and downs. The last month and a half  of my Spanish adventure has had its share of both, from the struggles of apartment hunting and bureaucratic hoop-jumping, to the delights of discovering the small secrets of a foreign city. A list of my priorities might look something like the following. 

First mission: Find a place to live. Check.

Second mission: Make it legal. Check. (Or let's hope so.)

Third mission: Eat ham. Check!

The first and second items were a little tricky, but I feel that I have mastered the third. I live with two fun girls in the Casco Viejo, or the old quarters, of Bilbao. And after several visits, varying in length and pleasantness, to the foreign office, the police station, and the government building, I don't think that I will be deported any time soon. Until June, I can call Bilbao home, and dedicate myself ham eating!

my favorite ham store!

Casco Viejo in the rain

café con leche and a pintxo

Well... maybe not just to eating ham! I am also enjoying getting to know my students and picking up private classes. Teaching is another thing that has its ups and downs, but the amazing students you get to know always makes it worthwhile. Even if you are not an educator by trade, I would highly recommend incorporating some kind of cultural exchange into your travels, or even your daily life. Popular websites like couchsurfing.org, or if you are in Spain, tusclasesparticulares.com, offer a simple way to connect with local people and share skills. 

speaking of ups and downs...

While I tend to be more of an introvert who likes nature, my roommate, Lucie, is interested in all kinds of cultural pursuits, so we are able to do a lot of everything. Spain is a great place to live, because it offers easy access to both. Bilbao is what I describe as a "manageable" city. There are plenty of goings-on to fill your calendar, but most places are within walking distance, and even the mountains and the beach are only a short hop on public transport away. 

My first weeks as a resident of the Basque Country have been filled with rambles and adventures. The famous Guggenheim museum celebrated its birthday in October, so I stopped by to grab some free cake and check out the exhibits. (With absolutely no emphasis on that order, then again...) Another auxiliar friend is rather entrenched in the underground arts scene, so one Friday night I packed into his apartment to watch some locals jam. To burn off my excessive ham habit,  Lucie and I joined a stampede of Basque natives on a traditional hike from the city center to the top of Artxanda, one of the peaks surrounding the city. The pinnacle of my cultural awareness, though, was probably my first ever visit to Ikea!

As I get to know Bilbao, the list of things I want to do seems to be always growing longer, not shorter! 

source

the Guggenheim's birthday

an "Americanada" party in San Francisco

adventures in Ikea

the nervión at night

Because Spain.

yes, Spain is different!

"You ask some unusual questions," is a comment that I often hear in Spain. How do you say this? Why do you say that? What is this? Why do you do that? are quandaries I am always presenting friends and coworkers, equally in attempts to improve my language abilities and cultural awareness as to accomplish basic tasks like opening doors, operating appliances... Last year it took me about a month to discover the secret of turning on the television! (Really, who would think to use the channel button?)

Exploring cultures besides our own can be enlightening. And it can be frustrating.

One post in Often Wandering, Rarely Lost really resonated with me, because I empathized with Martina's feelings when she discovered that the Spanish post office doesn't carry stamps. When first mailing postcards from Cangas I was met with the same surprise. They didn't have any stamps, the man at the desk told me, but I might be able to find some at the tobacco store. Or maybe I could check back another day and they might have some. How could this be? At least in my personally unique life experience, when I think post office, I think "stamp store." That a business would stock its principal product only intermittently was dumbfounding if not inconceivable. Thankfully, Martina had the answer:

Because Spain.

This expression originates from a Redditor's poetic musings on being a foreigner in a strange land. In his case, it was China, but any traveler can benefit from his wisdom:

It's not a land in which the foreigner suffers. It is not ahostile land or a wild land. It is, rather, a land of pointless minorabsurdities and wholly unnecessary inconveniences, which coalesce to infuriatethe ill-tempered and delight the rest. When I first arrived, I was informed bya nice older gentleman, "FIRSTNAME, do not ever ask 'why' here. You canask yourself any other question, and the answers will enlighten you. But do notask 'why,' because here, there is no 'why.'" And he was right. Theanswer--the only answer--to "why" is "because China."

There is no why.

People say that you shouldn't criticize things that you don't understand, and I've come to think that you really shouldn't criticize anything, because you probably don't understand it. Even if there is no "why," there's usually a reason things are the way they are, however absurd and unnecessary it may be. So, my intent is not to pass judgement, but to share the things that have delighted me in my wandering.

To level the playing field, I'll start with some of the laughs I've had talking to people about American culture. As a casual observer in Spain, I am intensely interested in foreigners perceptions of my native country. Do we really eat hamburgers and hotdogs all the time? Why are the streets so poorly lit? Isn't there a law that the American flag must appear in every film? Why would they design the highway system so that, if you miss your exit, you're completely f*'d? Are the houses all built out of such flimsy materials? (Apparently 75% of the world's superstorms hit America, resulting in a lot of disaster-related, Twister-style press.) Someone even told me that they were under the impression that the sole purpose of smoke detectors was to punish people for smoking indoors.

But there's something funny about stereotypes... Let's just come out and admit it: They're all true. (Well, maybe not the smoke detectors bit, but hey, who knows! Big brother might be watching.) As a bilingual girl of average height and weight whose favorite restaurant is not McDonald's, stereotypes may not be precisos, but they have their sentidos. No, all of my meals don't come from a box, but, yes, I do love Kraft Mac n' Cheese every bit as much as a five-year-old child. No, I don't drive an SUV, but, yes, I will make an extra lap around the block to catch the end of my favorite song. And sometimes you just need to drive to Taco Bell at three in the morning, you know? Just embrace it. We're all products of experience, and there's nothing like a fresh foreign perspective to draw it to your attention for consideration.

So, what about Spain? Stay tuned to find out what anomalies have struck my fancy!

Siempre para arriba!

After three plane flights, two bus rides, and a six hour time change, I arrived in Galdakao, the town where I will be teaching this year. With a little wandering about and the help of some friendly Spanish residents, I made my way to the hotel that my mom had booked for our trip—a quaint Basque family house. As I slowly cracked the door open the notes of Sammy Davis Jr. spilled out along with the scent of lunch in epic Spanish proportions. It was a pleasant way to start my stay in a new place! (Thanks Mom!)

Iraragorri

"En Bilbao, es siempre hacia arriba."

That's what they told me when I arrived in the Basque Country, "In Bilbao, it's always up!" I dedicated my first day here to exploring Galdakao, the suburb where I will be teaching this year. The first order of business was finding the school, and asking for directions more than once elicited the response, "Walk to the top of this hill, take a left, walk to the top of that hill, turn right, walk to the top of that hill, keep going, and up there, above everything, is Elexalde." And they were correct! I continued upwards through town, and, eventually, I arrived at my new school.

IES Elexalde

As my return to España was fast approaching this summer, I began to have doubts about my decision to come to the Basque Country. Why would I ever go anywhere without Teresa and Fran? How could I ever find somewhere to live better than with Mucha? No school could be as friendly and welcoming as Rodeira! I will miss my friends and students so much! And these things are probably true. But, wandering through town now that I had finally arrived, I was reminded of all the reasons I love Spain. I took the photos below from the same spot, within a three minute span of time. Taking out the trash isn't the only chore reserved for men in Spain, they must also collect the Sunday pan! 

I suppose that's the meaning of echarse a andar--sometimes you have to echar a little extra! It's always tough to leave the places and people you love, and the more places you go, the more there are to love! Fortunately, arriving somewhere new has its own sparkle. Here's looking ahead to new adventures in España and the País Vasco!

Bad Blogger

I know, I know; I've been a bad blogger! But, I plan to catch up! The summer has been full of adventures in Spain, Yugoslavia, and Ohio, and there are many tales to tell. With the return to Spain just around the corner, I am feeling nervous, excited, and eager to savor the last days of summer. Stay on the lookout for new updates as I get back into the swing of things and try to atone for my bad-blogger days!