Why come back?

A variety of people have asked me since I have been home, “why did you come back?” Implying that I was abroad doing nothing but enjoying the good life. Or that some how coming back here is a giant let down. I think the question implies more of those who asked it than myself. An exotic local is only exotic because you’ve either never been there or you’re not there right now, in both scenarios it allows ample fodder for the imagination. How is it strange to want to be Home, in all it’s ‘lack’ of splendor?

What I mean by Home, is to be close to friends and family in a country, despite it's problems, is mine. I don’t have enough of a personal beef with the US to stay away for the rest of my natural born life, there is so much left to do and explore here. The US isn’t perfect, but I’m up at least for trying to make it better, not just leaving it behind. I see no personal reason to stay away either emotionally or morally.

Economically, it takes a lot for someone to pack up their belongings and leave the place of their birth. Most of the people do it to find better opportunities for themselves and for their children, which is commendable. Or in a modern context someone in their home country is threatening them and their family, so of course they want to get out! I have ancestors that came to the US simply for economic opportunity, some more recent than others. I don’t see it being an advantage to emigrate anywhere, at least with my current education level. The unemployment rate is decently high here, but it’s nothing compared with Spain which has been hovering between 15 to 20 percent for quite some time (and it is twice as bad at my age). There is definitely other countries out there that would provide more opportunities then Spain would, but I saw no reason to keep wandering if the place of my birth was full of opportunity.

I also feel like I lack the emotional fortitude it takes to live away from your country for your entire life. The people I know who have chosen to live abroad most often have chosen it for the sake of a singular person: a boyfriend, girlfriend, husband or wife. Those kind of attachments didn't happen for me and maybe if they had, I had I would still be there. It takes a lot to stay away even the happy couples I’ve met, it was still rough not to see family for years or to have to worry about calculating the time change for it to be ok to Skype someone. It’s trying and that is the sacrifice people make when they decide to be the ‘new’ people in a new place. I personally wouldn't wish that heartache on anyone, but opportunity is worth following.

As much as I’m writing a treatise, what I’m trying to say is that always at the back of my mind I have always seen myself coming back to the US. It’s a land where I understand things more or less, where my great grandfathers are buried. My grandfathers fought in WWII for this country, one of whom, who was greatly wounded never to be the same again. He bled for this country maybe someday I’ll have to do the same. I love the US, where the people are a quilt of colors, where we don’t always agree but somehow we always seem to get along. This place isn't perfect, but I have yet to encounter a place that is. 

Death of a Dictator

It was announced two days ago that Kim Jong Il died of a heart attack. It was alo reported that he suffered that heart attack from over work. He was only 69 years old, which is relatively young by western standards, but seems to me to be a pretty long life considering that many of his 'communist brothers,' aka subjects, die of starvation far ahead of that number. (Those that do make it to a later life are often shorter than their Southern Koreans). I’ve read a few articles about the man that everyone North Korean refers to as “the great leader,” he was listed as one of odder world leaders though in my opinion he doesn’t hold a candle to Gaddafi. What I guess I don’t understand is how his country who would be far better off without him and his cronies, can continue to worship him as some sort of God? He is only a man even if he was born under a double rainbow… How can you worship a man who is clearly a mortal, especially when you’re starving as so many N. Koreans are?

I think it goes back to common occurrence in my home country, and something that is replicated the world over, the "cult of celebrity" who are either in power or on TV. No one forces us to turn ‘Tebow’ into “Tebow the saint” but we do it anyway without any external political forces bearing down on us. I think if you turn celebrity into something that is countrywide, meaning the majority likes that person and then makes that devotion contingent on protecting you and your own I could see how people would just follow along. I’ve never experienced anything like a totalitarian society in my life. The closest thing I’ve ever come to it is reading ‘1984’ back when I was high school and then watching ‘V for Vendetta.’ Standing up to oppression is not an easy task, even monumental if you do it all by yourself. I would imagine it can cost you everything: friends, livelihood, and often your family. It’s easy to find reasons not to dissent. As I said before, standing up is a hard proposition especially when people are carried away in the night for it. Though I suppose if we’re really honest with ourselves we could all be dead tomorrow, so when then are we all so timid?

The sheer force of will and fortitude that is required is why people lionize for their dissent. Though the people who are most often respected are those outside their countries where we can see it at a convenient distance away from ourselves. Physical distance allows space for ignoring the sacrifice of others and makes it far easier to not do our own soul searching in effort to apply that transformative force in our own lives. Or maybe those people who can stand against the weight of public scrutiny are made from tougher stuff than the rest of us? 

Where was I?

I haven't put a new post on this blog in over a year. It's not because I haven't gone anywhere and not done anything, I've done quite a great deal. I've seen and met some really great people and I've been to multiple new countries, it's just this medium got off my radar and well, I don't really feel comfortable writing in this place. I've never gotten the impression that too many people read it, and especially if it isn't updated often I totally get not wanting to stay tuned in; I wasn't even tuned in and I create the content here... yikes!

I've been home in Massachusetts, now for over 3 months which does seem reasonable but seems like an entirety if I actually think about it. I'm from northern suburban Boston and that is currently where I reside. I've missed the people over the years and it's nice to be back in a place where I grew up, but I didn't and don't miss the atmosphere of this upper middle class suburb. I guess it must be my lack of interest in keeping up with the Jones? Which I've never understood, or maybe it's just my lone wolf streak. Back when I had a full time job and hadn't moved to Spain yet, I never wanted the big @ TV nor a large mansion style house, that so many of my coworkers seemed to be rushing toward. The only thing I'd understand is having the large house because I had like a million kids, which interests me far more than a big TV and driving a Ferrari. Money is a means to things but not a point to itself, I've learned a little of that by experience.

In the interest of full disclosure I currently have like, no money and most definitely no job. I've been taking classes half time and I haven't really wanted to find something that would muck up having time to spend the time studying I need to do everyday. As a result I spend far too much of my time doing nothing except absentmindedly cruising the Internet not doing anything truly salient except responding to my spur of the moment curiosity. It makes one knowledgeable about a lot of things, but it doesn't really add productivity to ones life...

It's good to be back in the US of A, I miss España, but as Dylan says 'the times they are a'changin''

Shortest Run Ever...

I went for a run Thursday after work like normal and about 7 minutes in, I stepped on what best can be described as a loose metal power cover on the side of the road. It flipped up and hit me in the shin causing me to fall forward onto gravel. In retrospect the cover was marked with some white and blue warning tape but I like my usual running self was thinking of other things and not paying any attention. As I fell I starting yelling "F@ck" which attracted the attention of one of the "Johns" that frequent the park, or at least someone who very suspiciously behaving like one. He kept asking me if I was 'OK' in Spanish and then asked me if I understood Spanish. I assured him I was fine and started heading home, thinking I had only bruised my shin and my pride.

After walking about three quarters of the way home limping when it occurred to me that I should start icing my shin and what better way to start but by using the cold air that was surrounding me. Upon thinking this I lifted up my selectively tight running pants and notice something I had not expected, blood. "Awesome blood I'm going to have to clean it out when I get back to the apartment." I also noticed it was bleeding so I figured it was better to put the leg of my pants back.

When I got to the apartment I took a pretty long look at my leg and and started to clean it out with some paper towels and tissues. The scary thing was that it didn't stop bleeding which I didn't think was a good thing. I hesitated a little knocking on the door of my landlord because I knew his girlfriend Luz, was around and she knows this neighborhood better than I do. When I showed her my problem she got totally freaked out by the blood, but she then offered to take me over to the local neighborhood clinic after I wrapped it up a little. On the way over the public clinic we had a conversation about the English words she knows which isn't that many.

We arrived at the local "centro de salud" where they told me that they couldn't take my private insurance card Mapfre. They thought I wanted a regular check up despite me using the word "sangre" meaning blood numerous times and Luz, who was helping me saying exactly the same thing. Thankfully I sat down in the large waiting room where they could see me to check it and adjust the bandana I was using for a bandage. I hadn't planned on being strategic but one of the administration women saw the blood. They then showed me into of the clinic area in what only ended up being a cleaning, when I needed stitches. After cleaning it out they told me I needed to go someplace else aka an actual hospital to get stitches. They were worried that I had gotten something lodged in the wound they could not see so they suggested I go to the closest private hospital I could find. I knew one from when a friend of mine was hospitalized and so looked into heading there.

I first went home to get a better jacket since I was wearing my running gear, and my metro pass. I then started walking toward the metro, looking for a cab. I got a very bald and friendly cabbie who was nice enough to give me some pointers about how describe my problem to the doctors while on the ride to the hospital. He drove me right into where the Urgent patients with ambulances are dropped and I got right into line after giving my details to the insurance lady. I waited for about 40 minutes where the bandages I had gotten at the clinic kept every ship shape.

After the wait, I got ushered into a "consulting room" by a nice doctor who turned out to be Venezuelan who spoke great English. She asked me what happened, looked at my continually bleeding wound and told what we were going to do. She told me, while doing so, that she was going to clean it out and then I was going to get an X-ray just to make sure there wasn't any metal lodged in my leg. After we'd figured that out, she was going to stitch up the hole I had in my leg. But before we also really started doing anything I spotted a red haired Spaniard who Maria, my doctor, was consulting with. It turns out that she was an intern, but as far as I could tell did a pretty good job. She had the help of one the nurses who kept the whole thing rather clean and orderly. They gave me some localized anesthetic which I first thought unnecessary but I changed my mind later; even with the anesthesia the stitches hurt. She also told I would need to take an antibiotic for the period of 8 days. They gave me a tetanus booster and I was up and out of there after a conversation about Venezuela.

I grabbed the closest metro by way of getting the pharmaceuticals she had prescribed me. I limped home after getting off the metro, really wishing I had one of those power chairs all the way to my apartment due to my now limping gate. Dinner was a pizza shared with Luz who had helped me and I've been sitting around hopping my leg gets better as fast as possible.

"Maria" the doctor told me that I wasn't supposed to walk much for 48 hours and I'm not to run for 15 days because I bruised both the muscles and the main leg bone my tibia. She told me that I could start running again when I wanted, but made it clear that if she were me, she would wait the 15 days. Provided it starts to heal we'll see how long I last going without running

Since Thursday I've been sleeping a lot and generally trying to walk as little as possible. I haven't been entirely perfect about not walking too much because honestly, I need to eat. Walking combined with using the Metro de Madrid is how I live around here, so it's hard to not walk anywhere during the day. After get back from the hospital on Thursday night I didn't really go anywhere for about 36 hrs which I think was a help. I've also been trying to ice it and keep my leg raised just as the doctor ordered. With the exception of bad movies a fairly simple book I have been pretty bored around here. I think I'm going to try to go to church tomorrow but on time rather than early like I have in the past seeing how I'm not technically supposed to be walking...

Finishing School and Summer Camp

Where do I begin? It's been loads of months since the last time that I wrote absolutely anything for my blog. I wish I could chalk it up to not having been writing anything, but that is not the case at all. In fact I spent the last couple of months writing a lot, mostly about my travels and out of boredom when I would get caught waiting on something, not unlike now (I'm currently waiting on my ride to the airport). I was for most of this past academic year at a school by the name of Principe Don Felipe which is named after the present Crown Prince of Spain. It's a nice school and I genuinely enjoyed my time there. I wasn't sure whether I would be returning to Spain, so I didn't sign back up for the program again and let the March deadline to do so go past me. Around April, I started to have the desire to remain in Spain for another school year. Both due to the fact it was far too late to return to Don Felipe and a host of personal reasons I was glad to be not returning to that particular school. I hope, and don't think, I burned any bridges leaving. The school was nice enough to provide me with a group of parting gifts that ended up being very useful this past summer. A t-shirt that says "La Roja" for the Spanish national team and a guide to the Camino de Santiago.

After about week off I started an English speaking summer camp that ended up being in Talvara de la Reina in Castilla La mancha. About 7 counselors and 2 support staff were responsible for group of about 80 kids. At times it was a really good time, I genuinely enjoyed trying to teach kids who were 13-15yrs of age for the 2 weeks I was with them. The problems mostly stemmed from the exceedingly poor management of camp by the umbrella corporation Pueblo Ingles which is affiliated with the larger company of Vaughan Systems. We started out short staffed because they couldn't get people enough people to work the first two weeks of July which is what we were doing. San Fermin, the fiesta in Pamplona that is so famous for the running of the bulls happens in the early part of July. The World Cup was playing too and I was apprehensive about working during it on the off chance that Spain would come out the victors.



Despite one the rules of the camp being that we were not going to watch a lot of TV, we made an exception to spend time watching the games. The first couple of games with Spain playing this or that other team, a lot the kids didn't really care. They was a large portion of them not anywhere near the room that had the large TV. But when the final Championship game came around everyone was in the room cheering when they could but mostly holding their breath. Spain was playing Netherlands and it wasn't the best game of football/soccer I've ever seen. The Dutch played very dirty and the amount of yellow cards that were handed out in the first half allow was inexcusable. After 90 minutes, the passing of stopage time, and then two 15 minute extra periods, Iniesta a player for Barca scored the only goal for Spain of the match. The kids that we had been teaching, went nuts and I mean nuts, you could barely see the 70 inch television with all the jumping and celebrating that was going on in front of it. The Dutch tried in vain to make up for the deficit, but it just didn't happen in the little time they had left. Iniesta's goal would stand as the only one of the match. I've had a number of what I would classify as surreal moments in my life, the election of Barack Obama as president being one of them, but Spain winning the World Cup the celebrating was crazy. I really, really wish that I had not been working that night. We counselors were still in charge of the kids and couldn't celebrate in an adult type fashion. The party for the kids lasted until 3 am and quite a few of them complained a great deal about having to go to bed that early. I couldn't really blame them, it was huge moment for their country, at least within the lense of sport. Spain had never won the World Cup before, it remains to be seen that they will win again, but that's four years from now, so who honestly knows?

With the late nights, activity planning, getting up earlier than the kids, and the constant responsibilty I was a little tired. I spent the next week in July mostly just sitting around the apartment of a friend, not doing anything and watching too much TV. It's amazing how much I missed the personal space and the tranquility of being able to be by myself. I spent a little bit of time trying to get ready for the Camino de Santiago that I had wanted to start right after I finished the camp. I after about 5 days back in Madrid I was ready to go. I got down to the bus station the day before I thought the bus would be leaving for Tarbes. Tarbes is a small French town a little over the border of Spain and France. Lourdes is a famous pilgrimage destination that is near to Tarbes. Lourdes is where I was going to attempt to start the walking portion of my journey to Santiago de Compostela.

I think that's where I'm going to leave it for now, this entry has all ready made up for the lack of them over the last few months. The few people I've known that have actually told me that they read the accounts of my life here, will have to wait to hear the rest of my journeys this summer.

Austen's Emma

I just finished reading Emma by Jane Austen. It was a good read and in truth was not as nearly boring as the only other book I’ve read by Austen, Pride and Prejudice. I would in truth re-title Emma with the subtitle, “the humbling of Miss Woodhouse.” Because in truth the main character starts off as someone you don’t really like and then morphs into a far less conceited and well-adjusted person by the end. What I think makes it superior to Pride in Prejudice (P/P)? Austen uses the omnipresent narrator a lot more effective way in this book. For example in P/P we are cheering for the main characters, since most it's the most stereotypical Austen novel; to get a man. Where as the character of Emma is usually messing something up or really doesn’t seem to be aware of what’s really going on. In fact at points I found myself wishing she was saying and doing the exact opposite of what she does. Not having the author always on the side of chief protagonists really made it a much more enjoyable read because it makes it a much more complex story.

I always take issue with the chief topic of Jane Austen novels; MUST GET A MAN! Maybe some might take issue with me editorializing about Austen’s subject matter, being a man who has voluntarily 'subjected himself' to an Austen novel. But honestly I found the main aim of the books rather tiresome and Emma took me longer to read then most books of the same length simply because it felt like I was reading antiquated cattiness. It forced me to put it down out of boredom more then once, but the quality of the writing always made me come back to it.

Having not read any Austen since high school, I was also struck by how little physical description there is. The scenes of the conversations that are main staple of the book are very rarely given little more than one or two sentence descriptions. Most books want you to know the scene that the characters are currently finding themselves, but Austen’s emphasis is entirely on the conversation and social context. There isn’t even a real lengthy description of what the main characters even look like. I might of missed it but I don’t think it even states what color Emma’s hair is; physical description wasn’t that important the author. I don’t really remember ever reading a book so lopsided toward conversation before, in terms of the narrative it sort of jumpy and almost like a play.

I guess I just don’t understand Austen’s lasting appeal. In the historical forward to the book, my edition stated that Austen’s novels have been in almost continuously published since her death. In truth I guess I just don’t understand why people, seem to enjoy them so much. The writing is great, but the subject matter as I said previously subtracts from the writing. Though I suppose for that very reason I have trouble with them is the reason a lot of people really like them. I don’t see myself scrounging the bookshelves for another round of Austen, but all in all I enjoyed Emma.

Today is Veterans Day in the US, Armistice Day in the UK and absolutely nothing in Spain. According to one of the Spanish teachers at my colegio, Spain wasn’t involved in either of the two world wars, something I find highly suspect, but would explain why they don’t celebrate today. It’s also kind of an awkward holiday since it’s not often on a weekend, I remembering sitting around doing nothing and sleeping in on what seemed like always a random day of the week. I do remember the few times my father dragged me to a veteran’s event, but it seems more like the exception rather the tradition. So now that I’m in a country that doesn’t even acknowledge it, I guess I miss it. It’s been amazing to me what I miss about the states, sometime it comes as a complete surprise.