Fish me a Wish

So, I live on an island. On this island there are many ports and harbors. Im not talking about huge ports like Philadelphia or New York, but fishing ports, nestled between mountains. Soller and Andratx are two such towns. They are located on the other side of the mountain range that I described in my earlier entry "A Tear Shed". When the mountains abruptly ends, the ocean abruptly begins. There is no flat land like on my side of the mountains. Occasionally, there will be a spot big enough to put a castle and a small town between the ocean and the mountain. Soller, which I visited about a week ago, and Andratx are just that.

Friends of the family own a sail boat and they invited Miguel and I to go sailing with them this afternoon. We left Andratx at about one and sailed around Isla Dragonera, an uninhabitted island off of Mallorca. Since there were no towns around, except Andratx, the views were amazing. None of them were spoiled by hotels and tourist. We dragged a fishing line behind the boat and caught an 8 pound tuna. I had a really great day. Few of you may know this, but sailing is favorite thing in the whole world. Out here at sea, I am really in my element.

Where Romans Tread

In my bordem this afternoon, I found myself doing something very out of the ordinary. Homework. I was slowly reading my Catalan history book, translating words with a Catalan-to-Spanish dictionary, and then a Spanish-to-English dictionary. I felt like I was reading the Rosseta Stone. Fortunately, the text wasn´t difficult and I understood almost everything. We´re learning about the Romans, Visigoths, Musulmans, and Vandals. This chapter of history is often looked over quickly in America, as it really has no direct impact on our history. We all learned about the Romans in grade school, and about how Ceasar was assasinated by members of the Roman senate. Et tu brute? Here its diffirent. They teach Rome and Musulmans like we teach the Revolutionary war. In New Jersey, we can boast a handful of Revolutionary War battles and a few sunken Nazi U-Boats off the coast. Here they can boast carnage. Palma, the city I go to school in, was laid seige by dozens of diffierent armys in the past two-thousand years. Romans, Vandals, Moors; everyone wanted a piece of Mallorca. And who wouldn´t? Not only is it beautiful, it also maintains strategic point in controlling the Medditeranian.
Just last night, Jaime, Miguel and I went walking through the old section of Palma. Castles, walls, and old fortifications command the city. One can almost imagine hoards of pissed off Vandals running up the street that I was eating my dinner on. I did a little research and I discovered that several major battles were fought right under my feet in what is today Palmanyola, the town I live in. There is alot of history here, more then America, and you can actually feel it.
After I was finished history homework, I got to work on enjoying my Sabado. I went out with Maria to El Corte Ingles to look at cell phones. I´ve come to the conclusion that it is actually impossible to live without a cellphone nowadays. I found a really cheap one, prepago. Not too pretty, but it gets the job done. Afterwards, I had dinner at Maria´s and we watched a Spanish movie (naturally), with Spanish subtitles. I got the jist of it, or at least I hope I did.

A Tear Shed

Today I shed my first tear. I didn´t cry when I said goodbye to my parents. Not when I left America, nor when I arrived here. Not before bed at night, nor when I wake up in the morning. Don´t get me wrong, there have been times in the the last three weeks that I was sad, I just havn´t cried. It happened like this: Angel was driving me to school. It was early in the morning, about 7:00, and the sun was just beginning to rise. The road to school runs parallel to a spectacular mountain range in the West. The sun was shining just enough light to make them sparkle. There are olive orchards and sheep pens all along the sides of the road. I was staring out the window, but not really looking. Everything was quiet. Then a song came on the radio, a song I hadn´t heard in a very long time:

"I was bruised and battered, I couldn´t tell what I felt

I was unrecognizeable to myself

I saw my reflection in the window, I didn´t know my own face

Oh brother are you gonna leave me

Waistin away

On the Streets of Philadelphia"

I turned my head, and cried. I didn´t bawl or moan. I hardly made any noise at all. I don´t think that either Angel or Miguel knew. Seeing those mountains in the distance; the sheep and the olive trees next to the car; and hearing Bruce Springsteen, a Jersey Boy, sing a song about Philadelphia made me realize how far away from home I actually was. Its a totally diffirent world here.

The moment didn´t last long, not even the duration of the song. Somewhere in the middle, the dumb Spanish girl that reads the daily gossip interrupted, and song was over. "Púta", I muttered under my breath. And like that, my eyes dried up and I went on with my day.

As for my day, same old same old. I did have fun watching one persons lighter inevitably light about forty ciggarettes during break outside. He lit his own, and then used the ciggarette to light a freinds. It carried on like this until everybody´s ciggarette was lit. The funniest part was that it wasn´t planned, its just that no one had a lighter. Tonight I´m going to Palma with Jaime, my "cousin". He´s about 28 and loves spicy food. He´s the first person that I have met here that likes their food pica, or spicy. Its a misconception that all Spanish people like spicy food. Mexicans like spicy food. Spaniards like olive oil.

The F-Word

The United States, like many countries, has words that are considered foul and rude. The "F-Bomb" and "Shit!" are two such examples. Yet in Spain, "Joder!" and "Mierda!", their translations (respectively), are not nearly as taboo. You hear them on the street, on the radio, and even in the mouths of teachers and parents. It just goes to show that a word is really just a word, and nothing more. Sure, words can be meaningful and powerful, but the fact that a compilation of certain sounds in the vocal chords is bad, is absurd. I think the Spaniards have realized that. However, there is one word here that will turn heads and silence crowds; and I unwittingly dropped it at the dinner table last night. Franco. The Spanish "F-word". We were having a conversation about the diffirent regions of Spain and their diffirent languages. I said something along the lines of "... well Franco tried to make everyone speak only Spanish..." (in Spanish of course). Miguel pushed himself back on the chair, startled. Marie Angeles dropped her bread, and her husband shot me a strange glance. The conversation had shifted towards the awkward. After a few endless moments, everything returned to its normal rythem, but I could tell that they were a little shaken. I don´t think I´ll be using that name again.

As for my day, it was pretty good. Dijous is always the shortest day of school a week, 8 til 1. I was delighted to find that a girl in my class walks the same way as me to the Plaça Espanya where the bus and train station are; she takes the train, I take the bus. Since we were talking, we walked slower, and I missed my bus. But I´ll take someone to talk to over the bus any day. Since the next bus wasn´t until 2:30, I figured I would just wait until Marie Angeles came to pick up Miguel at 3:00. That gave me about an hour and a half to relax, an early Siesta. I bought a beer and a copy of El Pais at the supermarket, where the beer is the cheapest. I found a pleasant table under an umbrella on Calle San Olms, and sat. When I got back to the house, I finished my book, The Kite Runner. Really a spectacular read. Speaking of books, I had to catch the bus back to Palma this evening to purchase a copy of Rimas, by Gustav Becquer. I would have bought it after school, but I didn´t have enough money (not because I spent it on beer). So I bought the book in El Corte Ingles, and walked back to the same spot as earlier, this time with a Coca Cola. I spent another hour and a half there, reading Rimas. Or at least trying to.

The picture above is of Calle San Olms, very close to where I sat.

Primero Dias

Since I am starting my blog about three weeks after my arrival, everything that has happenend here so far will be in this post.

Departure NYC 9/5/08

Im happy that my last taste of America was the Big Apple. The flight over the ocean was long and cold; however, my spirits were kept warm by two things: The deep, inspirational conversation I had with the man next to me for most of the eight hour flight; and the overwhelming feeling of acomplishment. I am a dreamer, but unfortunately most of them never come true. Going to Spain has always been a dream for me, but the moment we took off from JFK, it became a reality. When looking for the right words to discribe my emotions, I could only find a cliché: A dream come true.

Zurich 6/9/08

Its quite common to go back in time when you cross the Atlantic Ocean...

My first glimpse of Europe couldn´t have been more perfect. We came in over France, but my view was completely obscured by clouds. Almost immediately after we crossed the border into Switzerland, the clouds dissapated. I was completely blown away by the grandeur of the Swiss Alps and the rolling countryside. We landed in Zurich and were given about an hour to wander about the Airport. I snapped a few pictures of a Smoking Lounge, something almost unheard of in the US. Most of the guys ran for the bars to purchase the sweet taste of freedom for about 8€ a pint, but Tommy and I felt that we should save that special moment, when a man (legally) buys his first drink, for our arrival in Spain.

Madrid 6/9/08

Finally, after days of being in transit, we set foot on Sanish soil. Tired and dirty, I made the appropriate entrance to land of the bulls. After a few minutes in the Airport, we were ushered to a bus that took us to our hostel. Unfortunately we didn´t get to see much of the city. Like Boston, Madrid is a city of tunnels. We emerged in a park with ammusement attractions. The driver turned down a dirt road and within a minute we could see the hostel. It wasnt to shabby, and the AFS staff was very friendly. Most of us wanted to get some sleep, but that wasn´t allowed unitil after dinner. That night at dinner, Tommy and I sat with three girls from Switzerland, with two of whom I stay in contact. We joked about our differences in culture and corrected a few stereotypes, but most importantly we found that even on the other side of the world, teenagers are teenagers. Tommy and I said our farewells that night as my flight was early the next morning, long before breakfast.

Mallorca 6/9/08

When Tyler (from North Carolina; the other AFS student going to Mallorca) and I stepped off the plane the first thing we said was: "Shit its hot!" and I´ll be darned if it was anything less the 100. We walked off the plane and down a flight of steps onto the tarmac, something I had never done before. We were taken by bus to the airport and we went immediately to find our maletas. An array of languages hit us as we walked into the baggage claim; German, Spanish, English, and of course, the feared Catalan. After a twenty minute wait or so, our bags came out on the belt and we left with them. Now, because of some errors with AFS and the mail, I had never actually seen my family. I knew there would be three of them. Marie Angeles, Angel, and their son Miguel. The suspense of finding out who they were and what they looked like made me feel like I was going on a blind date, except this date I couldn´t run from and would last about 10 months. I didn´t have to look very hard. The minute I walked out the salida, the three of them ran up to me. "Hola, ¿Que tal? ¿Que tal tu vuelo?" The greeting took about 20 minutes. I learned that Tyler´s host parents were friends with my host parents. It was nice to know I had someone to retreat to and speak English. Once we had finished kissing cheeks and shaking hands, we all, Tyler and his family too, headed for the parking garage. There we kissed cheeks and shook hands once more, but this time as a goodbye. The four of us climbed into Angel´s Audi. A quite spacious car by European standards. The conversation we had was mostly about the scenary around us: "¿Tienes Ikea en Estados Unidos?" "¡Si y mi me gusta mucho!" They took the long road home, through Palma, the main city. I was completely blown away by its beauty. Turquoise water, castles, and winding narrow streets were around every bend. I was truly in paradise. When we left Palma and headed inland, the scenery changed from palm trees and endless sea, to huge mountains and red earth. It was abosolutely breathtaking. We pulled into Palmanyola, my new home, about ten minutes later. Classic Spanish architecture mixed with swimming pools is the best way to describe it. We pulled up to the house (bout seven or eight and I yelled to the cabby...) and I was immediately greated by their little dog, Duna. We went inside and I was shown around. My room was small, but pleasant. We ate lunch out on the picnic table and I learned a little bit about Spanish cooking. Bread with every meal, even pizza. After lunch, I told them that I wasn´t trying to be rude, but that I only had about ten hours of sleep in the last three days and asked if I could go to bed. I slept til ten.

Maldrago 9/9/08

We went to the shore. It was a forty-five minute drive to the other side of Mallorca. During the drive I witnessed some of my first poverty here. It wasn´t the kind of poverty I was used to, not at all like the pile of rubble known as Camden. This was a rural poverty. Sprawling fields of sand and olive trees with mud huts and broken windmills. Sad, but beautiful. When we arrived at the beach, I was almost knocked to the ground by the absolute beauty that is Maldrago. It´s something you would see on a postcard or screen saver, the kind of place that you might spend your whole life trying to find. My family told me that it was their favorite place to go on Mallorca, and I could see why. The told me it was in the Zona Alemanes or German-Zone in English. Sounded alot like Cold War lingo to me, but it is acutally how the island is broken up. German tourists, English tourists. Two zones. We swam for a while and I took alot of pictures. Definately one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.

Tommy Andreas Barcelona 14/9/08

A week had passed since out arrival and it was time for an orientation. AFS paid for everything. Tyler and I met at the airport and we flew from there to Barcelona. We arrived in barcelona after a twenty minute flight. There, we took a train to Barcelona-Sants station. AFS told us to meet everyone else at the McDonalds at 11 in the morning. That gave us about three hours to kill. We ate our sandwiches and I bought a cigar, Don Ernesto. I put it in my bag for later. At about 10 we bumped into another AFS student, she was from Iceland. I can´t remeber the town she was staying in, but it was somewhere in Cataluna. Everyone at the orientation was staying somewhere in Cataluna. That included Tommy in Girona. Everyone got there after 11. Tommy, Tyler, Hanna (one of my swiss friends), Siga (the Icelandic girl), and I all chatted passionately about our first week there. Well, okay, Tommy and I spoke passionately and the others watched with bewildered expressions on their faces.

The AFS volunteers that were leading us around Barcelona for the day were all kids. One actually younger then me. We went to the Gaudi Gardens and we were alowed to split up and do our own thing for a while. Siga, Hanna, Tyler and I bought a pitcher of best Sangria I ever tasted. After our free time, we were split into groups and we discussed Spain with the volunteers. After an hour of that, we walked to the hostel and relaxed for a little. That night we all played a game, a sort of Spanish spin the bottle. All the boys had numbers, and the girls had letters. There were 7 boys and about 18 girls. All us guys were going to get some action. There would be a person in the middle, boy or girl, and they would have to call out a letter and a number (a guy and a girl). If it was a girl in the middle, then it was the guys objective to kiss her on the cheek before the other girl kissed him. If he was kissed by the other girl, he would sit in the middle, if the other girl couldn´t kiss the guy in time, she would go into the middle. We were all a little uneasy about it at first, but after about three rounds, we were really getting into it. And my god what a crazy game! People would tackle each other, roll around on the ground, and crawl on their bellies to lay a smack on the other persons cheek. It was madness, but it was fun. Afterwords we had to make a skit to describe why our native country was so great. Tommy, Tyler, Adam and I, the American boys, definately put on the best show. Tommy was an Native American and we all sang "This land is my land.."

Afterwards, we were allowed to do our own thing again, but since it was after midnight, we had to stay quiet. A group of us had a UN meeting of sorts, or at least thats what it seemed like. Hanna from Switzerland, Siga from Iceland, Yoann from French Canada, Ligia from Brazil, and Tyler and I from America all sat around in the dark. They all smoked ciggarettes and I my cigar. We talked about politics, what kids do for fun, and international gossip. We talked for at least an hour, then went to bed. The next morning we all ate breakfast and waited around to go home. We learned that our next orientation would be in October. Tyler and I were taken to the airport and went back to Mallorca.

School and a normal life 17/9/08 - Present

At first, I was frightend by the idea of school, then excited, and now its just school. The Spanish school day is quite diffierent from that in the US. Three hours of each subject are needed each week. One moves from class to class, but with the same group of kids in every class. This is good I suppose, it lets you bond a little easier. The hardest part about school is not the subject matter, but the language it is spoken in: Catalan. I had four years of Spanish under my belt before I came to Spain, and it certainly shows. I have very little trouble communicating in Spanish. Catalan is a diffirent story. It has the rythem of Italian, but the sound of Spanish and French. Every day I learn a little more of it, but at this pace, ill be lucky if I can form coherent sentances by Christmas. Almost all of the my classes are taught in Catalan with the exception of Castellano and English. Chemistry and Biology are pretty easy to translate as most scientific words are latin based and are similar to their english cognate. History and Catalan class are a totally diffierent story. It will be a jumble of rough sounding words, and I´ll be lucky if I pick up one word per sentence. Poetry in a language you can´t read is beyond impossible. I´m not really worried though, I just need to take things day by day, poca a poca.

At first, I didn´t really talk to anyone, but within a few days I had some friends. Well, I wouldn´t really call them friends yet, but at least I don´t eat alone. My only real friends here are Mario and Maria. Mario lives in the outskirts of Palma and we met because Marie Angeles and his mother play paddle tennis together. He´s 17 and goes to an art school in Palma, and most importantly, he likes The Mars Volta. Maria and I also met through the family. Her father is friends with Marie Angeles and she was invited over for dinner one night when I made pancakes. She did a foreign exchange to both Paris and the US for a year each. She speaks English well and she likes to practice it with me. Just the other night we went into Palma and she taught me everything I need to know about being a teenager in Spain. Unfortunately for me, she is leaving to go to the university in Madrid in two weeks. Then I´ll be down to one real friend here.

Life in the house is getting quite normal now. At first, everything suprised me. Things like Angel being home for lunch every day and siesta before his return to work. I know what is expected of me every day, and I follow them dutifully. The only thing I can´t get used to is sleeping. I just can´t sleep at night. The dogs bark outside and kids lights off fireworks at all hours of the night. Not to mention my bed is uncomfortable. Eventually it will get better, but as of now I am sleep deprived.

The food is good too. Pasta, pork, beef, fish, watermellon, and all sorts of goodies. Suprisingly, I´m losing weight, it must be all the olive oil. The other day, they bought me lots of pork ribs and BBQ sauce. They were suprised when I actually cooked it. Until that point, I don´t think they really thought that my job as a BBQ cook was real. Well, I sure suprised them. Angel said it was the best thing that ever come off their grill. I blushed at that. Kids here don´t have jobs and rarely do more then their chores in the house. By cooking for them, I stepped from the kid-zone to the adult-zone. Its much nicer up here.

From this point on, I will try to write something every day. Please subscribe, but I will send updates via email too.