"la elección del mundo"

On Tuesday, November 4 as I climbed into José Ángel's car on our way to El Robledo for the day, there was the usual Spanish salutation of "Good morning" followed by the equally customary "How are you" that sounds more like "How are jew?" in his wonderfully slurred English-Spanish mix, that I purposely do not call Spanglish not for fear of copywright infringement but rather due to it's more Iberian and less Mexican / Central American source. But on this Tuesday, the fourth of November, 2008, he added an extra solitary word, with the inflection of curious interrogation: "Obama?"

Living in Spain during this period of election speculations and preparations has had many advantages and disadvantages. Namely, I'd like to state that one advantage is that there was (and still is) never any lack of investigative journalism done on the subject of what's the latest in United States politics, and thus even if Friday night's Presidential Debate isn't spoken about in the newspaper until the Sunday morning edition, you know it will make the front page and be given at least three pages of space for review and opinion. The main disadvantage is not that what happens on Saturday Night Live is only given but a paragraph's summary in print or broadcast journalism (in fact, that such things are reported at all is something to consider), but rather that being six hours ahead all the time meant having to decide whether or not to sacrifice the time in between midnight and six AM, Wednesday, November 5 in order to watch the minute by minute coverage of the results as they came in. Whilst I was anxiously checking washingtonpost.com at 1 in the afternoon on Tuesday, I had to frequently remind myself that people were only just going to the polls with their Starbucks coffee and Dunkin donut (or donuts, if they wanted to be generous to their fellow line-waiters).

Thus, upon waking on Wednesday the 5th, to the sounds of my iPod playing "Hail to the Chief" (not by poetic happenstance, but rather on purpose), I rushed to the living room of my apartment as soon as I could, flipped on TVEspaña 1 and let the results come as they would.

Furthermore, if the coverage and attention given this election by the Spanish press and public is any indication, the status of the United States is certainly one of great importance, or, at the very least, great interest, for better or for worse. As a few of the professors at el Valle remarked on Monday during our weekly professor's luncheon, the election is not just for the United States, it is "la elección [más importante, supuestamente dado las opiniones de ésta gente] del mundo" (the [most important] election [given the opinions expressed by those present] for the world). It is worth echoing an observation already mentioned that to look at today's edition of El Mundo makes one feel that he or sshe has not really left home as, because they can see page after page dedicated to the summary, discussion, and minutae of the election results and the people who made it possible (if not for the obvious difference that all such information is conveyed in Spanish and not in English). In particular, the Op-ed section today either centered around speculation about what will be the first moves of the President Elect, how he will have to go about proving that he can bring the change he has promised, or was simply just thinny veiled elation and relief upon receiving official word of the new face of the United States.

I've even learned things -- if not just rediscovering things -- about the political history of my own country here through this press. It's a neat thing for anyone here to experience... assuming of course, that this "anyone" comes from the United States.

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Before I log off and go to bed, I feel I need to say one other thing about this week that I couldn't think how to tie into the the above discourse, though it is related. While sharing some tapas on Monday night with a few British friends in the Plaza Mayor, I was approached by a man who asked if I was from the US. When I answered affirmative, he told me that he worked for the local branch of a national radio network, Cadena Ser, and that they had been looking for Estadounidenses living in Ciudad Real to come in and speak on the topic of the election's outcome this Wednesday evening, but that so far he had been unable to find anyone. Long, lucky story short, they interviewed and recorded me last night at 7:00 PM local time and broadcast it this afternoon at 1:00 PM. I was unfortunately not able to listen in, having still been in classes with the kids, but I was told by the mayor of El Robledo (the town where the school is located) that it was a very nice interview (the station told me they'd send me a link to find the online archive feed, but I haven't received anything from them yet. When I do, I'll be sure to post it with a translated transcript).

My, my, my... first local broadcast news and meeting the President of the region, now a one on one interview on the local branch of their national public radio system. What's next? A guest appearance on Física o Química, the number one hit teen drama on the air in the country right now (and also the subject of what I had planned to talk about -- though still can next time -- before deciding that election-based content was clearly a more important matter to discuss)? One can dream, eh?

All right. A picture or two of the last few days, and then I'm out. Chau for now,

-Nick.





watching the results, early wednesday morning on TVEspaña 1

Ode to the French

Since coming to Aguilas I have to confess I have learned more French than Spanish thanks to my French roommate and his friends who often come to visit. Sadly, the phrases I use most are ferme ta gul (no idea if I spelled it right) and je suis sul (likewise). To save my reputation I'll let Sarah translate. My Spanish has improved a bit, however, since these kids all learned "proper" Spanish, or the Iberian variety, while I stick to manejar instead of conducir and aca instead of aqui. Earlier, when I commented on Sarah's post that I'd jumped into Castillian Spanish I didn't realize how deep the water was. So much of what I say gets my point across but sounds foreign and awkward to Spanish ears. I would never know this had it not been for my French comrades who constantly correct me; if only I had a euro for every time I heard no se dice eso en España (you don't say that in Spain). Merci bokou!
While my Iberian Spanish progresses step by step, my gastronomic adventures go by leaps and bounds. The short list of some crazy foods I've tried in the last few weeks:
Duck pate
Pig head pate
Pig body pate (God bless the French and their creativity with blended meats)
Fried fish testacles
Octopus (or squid?)
Not to mention all the normal Spanish food, tapas of every variety: potato omelet, potato sandwich (yup, just bread and potato, I love starch!!), pork and pepper sandwiches, jamon serrano and cheese, mushrooms (this is experimental for me), "salad" (which can be a mix of any kind of food, vegetables or no), chorizo and other sausasge varieties, and all kinds of fried fish and seafood. Thank god "mas por favor" is the same in every Spanish speaking country!

Ciudad Real: The Manchego Living

Hello! Here I am again, back at the portátil (laptop computer) for another fun-filled entry on the goings-on in Castilla-La Mancha. I like to think I've mostly settled in to the way of life here in the Castillan meseta region, but, of course, some things still seem very foreign to me.

A perfect example would be in everyday food and diet practices. Particiularly

interesting is this business of enjoying a later-in-the-day, two and three course luncheon and thus only holding a very brief milk and toast breakfast at the start of the day, and a short, apertif of an evening meal around 10. Not that I disparage this Spanish routine, rather I enjoy it quite heartily-- the Spanish are really quite adroit in their culinary leanings and craftsmanship-- it's just that from a purely ideological standpoint it clashes with my in-borne desires to have a big bowl of cereal in the morning, a nice-sized sandwich at lunch, and a proper dinner with salad and hearty main dish at night. Left to my own devices then, I usually come home from school by 3 and prepare myself a nice sandwich with cream cheese, lettuce, tomato, what have you or a tuna melt and at dinner, another light and simple meal. My Spanish roommates are beginning to think that everything I eat is the same.

That said, I reiterate that I reeeeeeally like the food here. Especially the tapas-ing (o decirlo en español, tapear). These little morsels of food are not always so little. They can range from sizes as acceptable for accompanying any beer, wine, or any other drink you may like to enjoy, to sizes and complexities that rival starter salads or even the most innocent looking of entrees. And many people here, either at

lunchtime or dinnertime, can be seen at the numerous tapas bars in town, dipping in for a bit of food and conversation, and then floating over to another neighboring bar, sometimes only just next door to the one they were just in. If done right, you may spend your entire, very gracious three-hour siesta time frame (from roughly 2:00 PM on through 5 or 5:30) tapeando y chatting with amigos.

And in Ciudad Real, that way of dining is very affordable. As two of my English friends and I were looking around city center the other day for somewhere to take in a nice lunch, we noticed that proper entrees on most lunch menus cost about the same as three decent-sized tapas dishes (called raciones). What's more, in Ciudad Real, as in many other towns like in throughout Spain, you can get one ración free with the purchase of a drink (usually the house beer, or caña, but sometimes any soda or juice drink as well).

Suffice to say, I won't die for want of food here. Nor, it happily appears, from want of ice cream, which is in good supply here in town. Most anyone who knows me knows of my obsession, nay, endless love of ice cream, and so it is no wonder that I should take just a few moments here to speak of its wonder and Spanish permutations.

There are two homemade ice cream joints in the city, both within a 10 minute's walk from my apartment, and both with distinct enough personalities to make me begin to see just how much of an ice cream connoisseur I have actually become. The first, Farggi, serves ice cream that has a very American look and texture to it. However, with offerings like nata con almendra chocolateada or avellana de piamonte and the flavor to match, there is no doubt about its very euro-italian roots and taste. The other, Helados Moran, is clearly ice cream in the Italian gelato mindset, where both the texture, choices, and flavors are carefully chosen, beautifully concieved, and wonderfully executed. Both are exceptional places to grab a cup or cone, though sadly-- unlike in Argentina-- neither offer the option of selecting two flavors for the price of one nor the luxury of bringing home a custom-chosen combination of flavors. These being the only fallbacks, both Farggi and Moran bring delight to anyone looking for a good afternoon or evening treat for relatively little cost.

....ah... I seem to have stumbled on to quite the tangent, haven't I? (and now I really want some ice cream).

Well, now that I've thoroughly saciated your need for any and all information regarding at least the Manchego dining customs and then some, I'll stop here and offer a few photos to show you what's been taking up my time here besides just food-related issues. hehe.

Chau for now, y ¡salud!

-Nick

The view of Calle de Mata from my apartment on the 8th floor

... and another by sunset

Regional hero of Castilla-La Mancha, Don Quijote

La Plaza de Constitución, near the central post office in town

Statue in the Plaza Mayor of the founder of the city and once great King of Spain, Rey Alfonso X el Sabio

At noon each day, figures of Quijote, his friend Sancho, and their creator Cervantes appear from a clock tower in the Plaza Mayor.

On suffering a linguistic identity crisis

So, I’ve been in Spain for a week and a half and already I’m suffering a linguistic identity crisis. Here’s the deal:

In Spring 2007 I spent a semester in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where I learned to speak in a mangled version of castellano porteño. My Spanish took on an Italian lilt and all of my y’s and ll’s began sounding like a sh. I adopted the voseo. Expressions such as “¡Qué quilombo!” and “Mira, vos…” insinuated their way into my daily conversations. When I was hurried I was “apurrada” and when something was annoying “me dio bronca.” I wrote with a “biombe” and got water from the “canilla.” You get the point.

Upon my return to the States, many of these linguistic habits stuck. New ones, however, were added, thanks to my Peruvian roommate. Since it seemed a bit odd outside of Argentine company to call something cool “bárbaro,” I took on the more generic Latin American “chévere.” From time to time I called my “almuerzo” a “lonche.” I'm sure that there were others that I didn't realize at the time.

Now in Spain, even the most basic daily tasks are confusing linguistic experiences. At the grocery store, peaches are “melocotones,” peanuts are “cacahuetes,” and potatoes are “patadas.” My computer is an “ordenador” and my cell phone is a “móvil.” When I want to travel, I need to take a “bus.” I should say "adios," not "chau," when I leave a store.

This is not to say that these words, or in fact most of the vocabulary I’ve encountered is unfamiliar to me, since I learned most of it in high school. Neither do I find it unpleasant. But having become accustomed to using certain colloquialisms and pronunciations, I’m finding it difficult to find firm footing on this different linguistic terrain.

The question is, how do I proceed? Do I dig my heels in and refuse to budge from those Latin American linguistic habits I hold dear, or do I change for the sake of being better understood or of respecting the local linguistic culture?

My instincts tell me that I do not want to change, but sadly I think that it is somewhat unavoidable, at least on certain fronts. As someone learning Spanish as a second language, my vocabulary and pronunciation is a hodgepodge of regional dialects and styles. My habits, not as deeply ingrained as they would be for a native speaker, are transitory: they come and go depending on the particular environment I’m in at the time. Also, like the Scotsman who toned down his Glaswegian when talking to Americans and Aussies, perhaps it is only common courtesy for me to do what I can to make myself more easily understood.

In the end, though I feel attached to Argentine Spanish and would very much like to maintain it, I have to admit that since I’m still learning the language, I am vulnerable to a slow but steady process of Peninsular infiltration, perhaps equally by force as by consent. Nevertheless, my Latin American allegiances still strong, I will not go down without a fight. So, dear friends, to cheer myself up until next time, I think I’ll read a Samanta Schweblin story and find myself some really good facturas.

For a great Argentinean-Spanish (read: Argentine Spanish to Peninsular Spanish) dictionary, check out this website.