Joyeux Quatre de Juillet!

Happy 4th of July! 

For those who didn't know, I'm back in the States for a visit for the summer, before heading off on my next adventure to....somewhere (hint, it's not cheeseland and it's not burgerland...).

So, today I'll be doing as Americans do, grilling varied meats on a grill, eating things in the colors of red, white and blue...

Maybe doing some themed arts and crafts...

Watching some fireworks in the evening...

And supporting les bleus. OK, that's not so American, but what can I say? All these years in Europe have changed me. I now say football instead of soccer, and I have an instinctive hope to see at least one of my adoptive countries keep going in the World Cup. 

Bleu, blanc, rouge...I love you!

Reasons being an American in Europe is hard

This post has been a long time coming, several years in the making in fact. I suppose it's no surprise to anyone that life as an expat can be...challenging, in a word. The things below are some of the most difficult things I've really battled with here in Europe—not small things like there being no peanut butter, but differences in belief systems. This post is a bit of a change from my usual style, a bit more “heavy” as Michael J. Fox might say. But it also feels real, and I think it's a good change to focus sometimes on the more complicated parts of the life I've chosen. And I want to make it clear that I'm not complaining, I'm very aware that this life was my choice, that if I feel it's all too much I should just go home. I'm merely reflecting here on some issues that have come up for me.

And before I get into it, I also want to write a disclaimer: I'm making a lot of generalizations in this post, some of which I know may be offensive to some people. I apologize in advance for saying that “Europeans are like _____” when of course it's not true of everybody. I'm speaking generally from what I've seen in my few years of experience living in Spain and France, and traveling to and having friends from various other countries. But if you're offended, if you think I'm totally off-base, feel free to tell me about it! I don't mind having my ideas challenged, if that helps me grow as a person.

So without further ado, some things I've struggled with while living here in Europe.

The age gap.
By this I mean the discrepancy between how I act, think and feel as a 25-year-old compared with how your average 25-year-old European acts, thinks and feels. Because I've been living (far) away from my parents since I was 18 (that's 7 years, if you were counting), I'm quite independent by now, and used to taking care of myself, to not seeing my family that often, etc. Because university is (ridiculously) expensive in America, I finished as quickly as possible, when I was 22, and never looked back. I have no plans of doing a masters unless it's free or close to it, because I simply don't have $40,000+ in my back pocket. This means I've been working for a living for 2.5 years now, and I've had some time to reflect on my career and life direction. Because nearly all my friends back in the States are starting to have stable jobs, houses, cars, husbands and kids, I feel pressure to have these things too. I think my extended family and friends often wonder why I'm wasting so much time in finding a job, a man, and settling down. However, here, many many 25-year-olds are still in or just finishing university. They probably still live with or near to their parents. They may not really know how to cook, manage their paycheck, or run a household. If they don't know what to do with themselves for work (and many of them don't, having just finished studying), they can always go back and get a masters—it won't cost very much! Because, if at all, they've only just barely started in the working world, their lives are still exciting and unstable. They still want to go travel, see the world, have fun and not worry. I've been there, done that, and I'm ready for something a little more permanent. But when I look for a full-time job, or a proper boyfriend, or a place to live for more than a year at a time, people here wonder what my rush is. I'm “only 25,” after all. “So young,” they tell me. Yes, of course it's young...but I wish people understood that 25 in my culture doesn't mean the same thing it does here. That I have nagging worries about being left behind, about playing Peter Pan while everyone else back home grows up. I feel more mentally in-step with people 3-5 years older than me, but I get irritated with them when they call me a baby and tell me that I'm too young to have really experienced anything in the world. So there's a bit of a disconnect from my peers here.

The insularity. 

So many people in Europe spend their entire lives living within a few hours' radius of where they were born. That's the dream, to never have to be too far away from family. Because of this, their ties with their family and friends tend to be very strong. It's not uncommon, if they do live away from home, to go back often on the weekends. In this way, many young Europeans always have a safety blanket, no matter if they're living on their own or not. They can always go home for the weekend if they feel lonely. They always have friends just a few hours away to visit, people they've probably known their whole lives. Me, I barely talk with my friends at home because of the time difference, and I haven't lived in the same state as most of them for 7 years. I no longer feel close enough with most of them to call them up out of the blue when I feel lonely. And that happens a lot here (feeling lonely), where these friend groups that have been strengthening since infancy are more than a little difficult to break into.

The work ethic. 

Because the work ethic is so strong in the States, people often hear about what I do for work here, see the trips I take, and think I'm on some kind of extended vacation. I have recurring guilt about not having a “real” job, about working as much as I “should” be, about not earning enough money to put some away for a rainy day. I feel bad for adopting the ethic of working to live instead of vice versa, even though I truly believe it's a better way to live life. The cultural assumptions I grew up with tell me differently, and it often takes a conscious effort to relax instead of worrying about working harder, about being more efficient. But then, if relaxing takes effort, is it really relaxation? I don't know the answer to this question, and I feel a sense of conflict about it.

The stereotypes.

“What sorts of things do we eat in America?” I asked in all my first classes here. Without fault, their answers were “Hamburgers!” and “McDo!” “What do Americans like?” “Guns!” “What do we watch on TV?” “THE SIMPSONS!!!!!” Yes, it's nice that the kids here can relate to my culture. I'm glad that they have a reason to be interested in learning English. But at the same time, unlike an assistant teacher from a less-well-known country, there's less novelty in our culture and traditions. They already know all about Santa Claus and the Super Bowl just from the movies. Instead of teaching new, exciting things about my culture, I spend most of my time just trying to break stereotypes. And even when I do succeed in teaching something new about America, I feel guilt that I'm perpetuating its cultural dominance.

The English. 

The language, not the people. Because of said American cultural takeover, almost everyone in Europe speaks at least a little English, and many of them are eager to practice. This is wonderful when I'm looking for ways to earn money, or am in desperate need of friends. But when I want to really dig in and learn the language of the country I live in? Sometimes it's more difficult because I'm an English speaker. People will switch to English on me when they hear my awkward French, thinking that they're helping. But when that happens all the time, I never get a chance to get any better!

The assumptions about the crisis. 

So many people here here think that America is still some kind of “promised land,” where the job market is great and it's no problem to get hired straight out of university. I don't mean to underestimate the impact of the crisis in Europe, but it's had a definite affect in America too. No, unemployment for under-30s is no whopping 50% like in Spain. But in Spain, many under-30s are still in university and living with their parents, and they still have guaranteed health insurance. They can still draw unemployment from the government for more than a few months. In America, it's very rare to continue studying and living with your parents after the age of about 22—that's just not seen as “acceptable” in American culture. And good jobs are not just coming out of the woodwork, either. Many young people, if they are employed, work long hours without health insurance, with two weeks or less a year of vacation time, at a job that pays so little they can't afford to buy healthy food or live a good lifestyle. But then when this overwork makes them sick for too many days a year, their employer most likely can fire them without recourse. What I'm saying is, America is suffering too, and even if I do go back, I can't just expect to have a good job handed to me. America is no promised land of jobs, SUVs and flat-screen TVs. At least, not for many.

The visas.

This one sounds super obvious, but most Europeans don't realize just how hard it is to get a work visa here, as a non-EU citizen. Every time I worry out loud about trying to find a permanent job in order to stay, people tell me to just go out and look, that lots of places want native English teachers. Yes, they do, but they don't want them unless they already have work papers. And those are almost impossible to get, because a company wishing to sponsor a person for them needs to prove that said potential employee is so valuable to the company that no person of better quality can be found in the ENTIRE EU. Since that includes Great Britain, I'm more or less S-O-L as an English teacher, unless I wish to continue being an assistant forever. People from here don't understand this, and it gets frustrating having to constantly explain it.

The distance. 

Duh, again. But I don't think many Europeans think much about just how big the distance is between my home and where I live currently. They think they understand homesickness and culture shock because they did an Erasmus year away in another country. I'm not saying that anything they felt wasn't legitimate, but it's just not the same as being from almost 8,000 kilometers away. I can't fly home for the weekend when I really miss it; there's no Ryanair to Chicago. I can't call my family whenever I feel homesick, because half of the time I'm awake they're asleep and vice versa. I can't have people just send me care packages when I really miss or need certain items from home, because it costs more than $60 to send a tiny box. I can't even afford to send lots of postcards home, because overseas postage is so expensive!

As with all of these things, I'm not really complaining, I'm just saying...I wish people realized a little more what life is like right now for me!!

The need to share all this is (probably) brought on by recent personal difficulties and a feeling of homesickness; I miss my family, and life is difficult here sometimes. No matter how comfortable I feel in Europe, these are some of the things that will always remind me that I'm “from away” (as they say in Maine). I'm not European, and I never will be. Vestiges of my Americanness will always clash slightly with the way of life here, and I will always have to accept that. But some pills are more difficult to swallow than others.

Am I alone in feeling like a stranger in a strange land? Or do we all feel a little lost sometimes?

Boas Festas!

As you may have already read in some of my earlier posts, for the first time ever this year I'm not going home for Christmas. At least, not in the traditional sense. If you consider that we all have multiple homes, home is where the heart is, etc., then sure. I came home to Vigo this year instead of to America. And honestly, though of course I'm missing my family, I'm pretty thrilled about it.

It's probably been pretty obvious to most people that, although France is cool so far, a lot of the time my heart has been aching for Spain. For Galicia. For Vigo. So coming back here, seeing my friends who are more like family, speaking a language I dominate fairly well, eating foodstuffs I'd been craving for months, really feels wonderful. In a sense, it does feel like a homecoming.

So although I know my family back in the States is missing me (and I them), and even though that family is about to get just a little bit bigger (bienvenido a sobrino #7!), I'm not tragically crying my eyes out because I can't be there. Especially because I'm obviously very familiar with American Christmas traditions; cookies and eggnog and Santa Claus, etc. However, this year I finally get to learn about Spanish Christmas, eat shrimp and turrón and talk about the Reyes Magos (3 Wise Men)...who actually are coming on the same day I leave back to France, but I'm going to talk about them anyway, because I'm curious.

So I'm excited to learn, to try new things, and to be in a place I feel like I belong, even if it isn't where I originally came from.

Boas festas to you and yours,

with love from Alisabroad

Thanksgiving by the Numbers

2009

2011

2012

2013

        

















Number of years since I've had a Thanksgiving with my family: 7

 Number of memories I have of said last familial Thanksgiving: 0

Number of Thanksgivings I've had in the States total (both with family and not): 20

Number of photos of American Thanksgivings that I have: 0

Number of Thanksgivings I've celebrated in Europe: 4

Number of photos of said European Thanksgivings: hundreds

Number of kilos of turkey bought this year: 4.7 (that's 10.3 pounds)

Number of Euros spent on Fernando the French turkey: €47 (that's ~$64)

Number of guests this year: 8

Number of times I've explained the "pilgrims and Indians" story in the past week: (feels like) hundreds

Number of good memories created at expat Thanksgivings: uncountable

Number of leftovers in the fridge: (finally) dwindling

Hope you all had a Happy Turkey Day!

Magosto

Despite my constant attempts to live in the present and enjoy the time I have in France, there are some days when it's impossible not to look back and miss my time in Spain. Today is one of them, when I'm thinking about what I was doing at approximately this time last year.

Vigo, you're still in my heart!

In Galicia, fall is chestnut (castaña) season. They start falling from the trees, and as you walk along the city streets you find a vendor roasting them on what seems like every corner. They're a very popular fall/winter snack that has a deliciously hearty taste. 

They're so popular, in fact, that there's an entire festival devoted to them! This festival is known as Magosto. At schools in Galicia, one day in the middle of November each student is supposed to bring a sack full of chestnuts to school, and then the teachers build a big bonfire on the playground and roast said chestnuts. Then everyone gets to munch on them...mmm, delicious. 

And as you might expect on a party day at school, the students get a little rambunctious. The tradition is that students take ash from the roasted chestnuts and run around trying to give each other (and any teacher they can catch unawares) a black mark on their face.

Of course, as the foreigner last year I had my fair share of kids (and even one of the other teachers!) smearing me with ash. By the end of the party, I looked like I'd literally walked through hell and back. But hey, it was worth it to experience another Galician festival and eat as many free roasted chestnuts as I wanted. 

Magosto at my school last year

So, Galicia, I'm feeling a little bit of morriña today. But I have exciting news, I'll be back in terra galega for Christmas, and I couldn't be more thrilled about it! Since that's only about a month away, today I get to leave off with hasta pronto! Yippee! 

My First Impressions of France

I know you've all been dying to know exactly how things have been going here in my new life in France, and I haven't exactly been delivering the goods. But I'm sure many of you also know just how hard moving and getting settled in can be, especially when it's cut in half by two weeks of vacation (such a difficult life, I know).

Intra-Muros, the old town of St. Malo

So to make this easy on all of us, here's a list of some of the things that have really caught my eye or surprised or impressed me about France so far.

The timetable

 I only "worked" (I say that lightly because really I was mostly waiting around for the administration to decide on my schedule) for 3 weeks at school before I had a two week vacation. In fact, French high schools have a two week vacation for every seven weeks they're in school. They say it's because of the long hours that they're there (8-5, most days), but it still seems like a pretty lush system to me!

The spire of the old town's cathedral with the sunset

 Related to the whole "working so hard while they're in school" thing, French schools have Wednesday afternoons off. I repeat, on Wednesdays they're done with school at noon. Wow!

And one more thing on the theme of strange timetables...in France, everything is closed on Mondays. Banks, shops, the works. It's therefore slightly inconvenient that Monday is my day off--it's like Sunday, take two! They say that this is because shopkeepers feel they deserve a full two days to rest just like everyone else in the world. I agree, in theory, but I'm starting to notice a pattern here with the whole "we deserve lots of time off because..." thing! It's rather confusing, because I keep trying to go out and get things accomplished at the bank or the store at a time that I think they should be open...only to be foiled by weird opening hours. C'est la vie, I guess.

The Food

French food has the fame of being among the best in the world, right? So far, that's mostly been my observation. Unsurprisingly, I've been regularly eating my weight in brie and Orangina, but what has surprised me is the fact that I've actually gotten sick of eating bread and carbs. I never in my life thought I would say that, to be honest. But here I eat nothing but baguette sandwiches, crêpes, kouign aman (a Breton cake with a name in Breton, pronounced queen ahmahn), pain au chocolat, etc. etc. And I'm...weirdly tired of it. Woe is me, I know.

Mini kouign amans

The Language

I expected to have problems with the French language after having lived in Spain for 3 years, to be constantly mixing it with Spanish. And so far, my fears have absolutely come true. I keep saying things like "Oui, c'est limpe," which means...absolutely nothing in French, and then people stare at me like I'm insane. I'm trying to say "Yes, it's clean," except the word for clean in French is propre, which has nothing to do with the word in Spanish (limpio). Oops.

But I have absolutely noticed and been surprised about a few things about the way that real French people talk, which I never knew or studied about in my classes in the US. For example, they use the word quoi (what) as a placefiller, so many of their sentences sound something like "Blahblahblah quoi, blahblah quoi, blahblahblahblahblah quoi!"

I knew about them calling McDonalds McDo and university la fac (sounds like the f-word), but I now also know that they call Coca-Cola simply coca, which makes me think they're talking about cocaine...every single time.

And I do remember learning in high school that French people sometimes use on (one, the pronoun) instead of nous (we), in order to avoid having to remember more complicated verb conjugations. But I had no idea it was so widespread! I've barely heard the word nous since I've been here.

Low tide in a neighboring town (Dinard)

I've also been surprised by the amount of people I'm apparently allowed to use the informal "you" (tu) with. I'd always been taught that as a sign of respect in France, you used the formal "you" (vous) with most people, except your friends (and especially with your elders). So I expected to be vous-ing it up at work, particularly, where I'm by far the youngest teacher. But no, so far I guess we're playing by what I think of as "Spain rules," where everyone is tu except the elderly and people in restaurants and stores. I remain confused.

The People

The French have the fame of being arrogant, but so far I haven't noticed that at all. Everyone here has been nothing but friendly to me. But what has surprised me is how funny I find them and their little habits.

Galette, or a salty crêpe, is a typically Breton food

For example, people (women especially) sometimes make this weird noise when talking. It's a quick inhalation, almost like a gasp, sometimes accompanied by the word "oui," which I guess (like quoi) is some kind of placefiller, but to my foreign ears it sounds like a gasp of surprise or fear. So whenever they do it, I in turn am surprised and look around, expecting to see something weird or scary in our vicinity, only to realize that it's just the French being French!

Another little quirk here is that people appear to be obsessed with license plate numbers. The last two numbers of license plates in France identify which "department," or area (of the 96 in mainland France) the car is from, and so when people see bad drivers here, they immediately fixate on the number of their license plate, and thus where they come from. You hear a lot of "Putain! That guy's cutting me off! Oh, of course, he's a 22!" (22s are our neighbors here, in Côtes d'Armor). You also hear a lot of "My god there are a lot of out-of-towners here today! Look, a 94, a 75! So many Parisians!" Ille-et-Vilaine, the department where St. Malo is located, is #35...so of course no one ever has anything bad to say about that number!

A local license plate designation

I'm sure I'll continue to discover more strange quirks about life in France the longer I keep living here! Stay tuned...

Nothing to Say But Adiós

My absolute favorite view of the city of Vigo

...the mingling smells of cigarette smoke and coffee that tickle my nose as I sit at an outdoor caftetería...

...the feel of the sun warming me during a winter paseo along the beach...

...the confusion of listening to a tableful of Spaniards all talking at the same time...

...the tangy taste of an olive, washed down by a cold caña...

...the sight of children out with their parents, enjoying the last bit of sunshine at 10:30pm....

There are certain things that will always remind me of my time in Spain, and I hope that when I look back on these days in years to come, I'm able to remember the above sensations...how Spain made me FEEL. 

Tomorrow, I say a final goodbye to the country that captured my unwilling heart, where I've spent 3/6 years of my adult life. I'll bid farewell to the only city I've lived in so far that I could see myself being in long-term, to friends who are more like family, to a life that has made me happier and more relaxed than I even knew was possible before I first came here. Spain has changed me, it has shaped who I am today enormously, and I'm honestly in disbelief that I'm not going to be living here anymore in the fall, that my students are no longer "my" students, that soon all the work I've put in learning Spanish will mean nothing as I struggle my way through a different language barrier. 

I suppose I should have more feelings about what feels like a breakup with my true love, but at the moment I'm in denial. I probably will be even after the plane leaves Galicia and I'm thrust into a world where English is spoken and tortilla is only for tacos. I have no words, really, to describe how I feel right now. Betrayed? Hopeful? Grateful? Sad. I don't know, they're all in the mix there somewhere. But goodbye has to be said. So it goes.

I don't know what more to say than gracias, mi querida España, y nos vemos prontito. Hasta luegiño.

Feliz Entroido!

Carnaval decorations, Málaga, 2012

One of the many things that Spain has that America lacks is Carnaval (Entroido in Galician). This is basically what Americans think of Mardi Gras, or the last few days before Lent. Depending on where you are, the celebrations can kick off up to a few weeks in advance, with drinking, eating, parades, and costumes. 

In Vigo, things are fairly low-key (for Spain), and the only real way I celebrated was by spending an evening with a group of people all dressed up in this getup:

Can you figure out what it is? If you're not from Vigo, the answer is probably no. I'm dressed as a Vitrasa bus (the local bus system) transformer. More specifically, the number 11 bus, which I take 3 days a week to get to private lessons. So there I am as a human, and when we all "transformed" into buses, they looked like this, with us inside:

It was a lot of work making the costumes, but when we all "transformed" together, it looked pretty cool. If you're my friend on facebook, check it out there! It was quite fun to go out and see all the different costumes (mostly people like us, in groups with a theme). Like a second (better) Halloween!

So Happy Carnaval, everyone! Eat lots of orejas, dress up, and be merry!

Immediate Reverse Culture Shock Observations: 15 Hours In

I've only been in America 15 hours and...yep, culture shocked already. This is a bizarre place. And, since it's 6am and I'm jet-lagged and can't sleep, I'm going to detail for you why exactly that is. Here are some of my immediate thoughts since getting off the plane yesterday, direct from my brain to you:

1. Hmm, going through customs and border protection in your own country is easy. I only feel slightly like a criminal!
2. Jesus Christ so much English everywhere!!! I feel really bad for these foreigners who obviously don't speak it very well, because it's obvious that none of the airport employees speak anything else.
3. Wow, Midwesterners are so friendly. My mom and dad made some BFFs while waiting for me to get off the plane.
4. Lord, it's hot. Why are the insides of buildings kept at the temperature of a sauna? I'm sweating!
5. American license plates are small and funny-looking.
6. Yay, snow! Blizzard! WTF DRIVING IN A BLIZZARD.
7. How is my parents' house so big and so small at the same time? We have so much STUFF. Look at all these things in my bedroom that I put there when I was 8 years old and haven't moved since. Bizarre.
8. What is with this toilet paper? I feel like I'm blowing my nose on a pillow! What am I, a princess?
9. Ha, American eggs are tiny and look like quail eggs.
10. Light switches and toilet flushers--where are they? Oh, there they are. Strange shape. I feel like I'm in a foreign country. Oh, wait, no I'm not, this is the house I grew up in. Weird.
11. (Reading a sign on a bank) Hmm, the temperature gauge must be broken, it's definitely not 32 degrees out there, because man is that hot. Oh, wait, Fahrenheit.
12. Holy crap, Tex-Mex food. Chicken chimichanga with refried beans, rice, sour cream and guacamole, you have materialized directly from my dreams. Margarita, I'd have loved to have ordered you, except I forgot about liquor laws in the US and neglected to bring my drivers license to the restaurant with me and was thus unable to prove that I'm over 21. Oops.
13. Netflix, you are a god. So many movies and tv shows at my disposal, 24/7. I may do nothing else over this entire vacation except get caught up on my entertainment.
14. Hello, jet lag. You're right, 9pm DOES seem like a good time to go to bed.
15. (And then...) Ah, good morning, 6am. Oh, look, I can see the sun beginning to rise. Weird.


...and this brings me up to the present. So much culture shock and I haven't even done anything yet. I'm sure this entry will have some follow-up ones in the next few days continuing my bizarre thoughts confronting my own culture, so look forward to that.

Oh, and as a disclaimer in case any of the thoughts above appear ridiculously stupid--I slept basically nothing for around 40 hours due to a wonderful "test" of a security alarm at Paris Charles de Gaulle that ran from 12:30-3am and left me with a lovely ringing in my ears and an inability to sleep for the rest of the night. Thus, my brain is running a little more slowly than normal. You'll have to excuse me.

Hello, snow. Good of you to arrive directly AFTER my plane touched down. Cheers!

Folga

It shouldn't be a surprise to anyone that there has been a lot of unrest in Iberia (that's Spain and Portugal) lately. High unemployment plus rising taxes and cuts in social services do not happy bedfellows make. Recently, hardly a week has gone by in which I haven't seen some kind of protest marching down the street, be it here in Vigo or nearby in Portugal. 

Protest march in Lisbon

The Portuguese people want jobs ("more and better employment" as the sign says)

A march for public healthcare and its employees here in Vigo

But yesterday was an official general strike day, like the one that we had in March--except this time, it was in ALL of Iberia, plus some protests in France, Italy and Greece. The strike meant that when the clock struck midnight on Tuesday night going into yesterday, all businesses (including bars and restaurants, gas stations, buses, banks, grocery stores, you name it) shut down for fear of having their windows broken by angry trashcan-dumping, firework-wielding hooligans starting to strike immediately. And almost all of these businesses stayed shut all day, because those same hooligans were going around town and screaming about breaking the strike at the workers in the cafes and stores that were open, then vandalizing them with spraypaint.

Sign advertising the strike day (folga xeral means general strike in Galician)

The goal of the strike was to stop the economy for the day and get the attention of European leaders, so in theory no one was supposed to spend any money or support "the system" in any way, and the hooligans were doing their best to enforce that.

Protesters

Not everybody was out vandalizing the scabs, though; what most people were doing (all across Spain, from what I heard) was participating in a march, which (in Vigo) began in a plaza at the top of the city and ended at another a ways downhill. I attended, not because I was on strike but because I was told it wouldn't be worth it for me to come to work when almost no students would be there anyway (although about half my coworkers went, but only 19 kids in the whole school showed up).

Massive march in Vigo

There were so many people at the march that you couldn't move, but it was interesting to me that everyone was just walking calmly. It felt more like a mass Sunday stroll than a protest march, minus the giant balloons with political propaganda on them. Only a few people were chanting or seemed really angry. But there were so many people that apparently by the time we made it to the second plaza, the speeches were over and lots of people were heading home for lunch, which is exactly what we ended up doing. It all felt really anticlimactic, especially when lots of businesses opened up again in the afternoon and all the hooligans seemed to have dissipated.

Everyone with their Galician-flag-colored balloons

Most of the buzz I heard from Vigueses about the strike was how useless a one-day strike was, how it wouldn't accomplish anything, and how it was stupid to complain when Galicia just had elections and most people didn't even vote, so the conservative party won again. And honestly, I tend to agree. Quite apart from the stupidity of the violent hooligans, I really don't think one day of missing work is going to do much, particularly considering all the money the corporations and government saved by not having to pay those people yesterday. 

I guess I'm just contrasting this one-day strike with pickets and marches and strikes I've seen and heard about in the US, like in my freshman year of high school when all the teachers went on strike for a month or the protests I went to in Madison, WI against Governor Walker. And from what I saw, this strike day (día de huelga in Spanish, or folga in Galician) seems like it didn't work as well as those ones did. I'm not sure if it accomplished much or even got that much attention worldwide. Reading US newspapers, it seems like the answer is no (although judging by the usual quality of US newspapers, that could just be normal American ignorance to anything happening outside its borders). But it is interesting to see how people in different countries try to express their feelings about political agendas. 

And just for the record, I'm not saying Spain doesn't have the capacity for those kinds of more drastic measures as well--they did do the 15-M (masses of people occupying Puerta del Sol in Madrid) just over a year ago, which was what seems to have inspired the Occupy Wall Street movement. But as far as protests go, to me this one (dubbed 14-N, for the date) seemed a little less-than-effective. I know it's historical that much of Europe is banding together to fight cuts in public services, and that two general strikes in one year is a big deal, but I don't know that it's going to change anything, particularly when the crisis is this bad. 

Anyway, since Thanksgiving is coming up and I spent all day teaching lessons about it so I've got it on the brain, I'm going to wrap up by saying how thankful I am to be able to have a job in Spain at this particular moment in history, but also to know that no matter how bad things get in Europe, I always have an American passport waiting to whisk me away (should I choose to go) to a place where things are slightly more economically stable. Plus America gave me the gift of the English language, which is enormously valuable and one of the only things keeping me afloat in these uncertain times. Cheers, USA. 

I Heart Galicia!

It's no secret that I've never liked Madrid. Like I said a few posts ago, it just doesn't feel like real Spain, and that irks me. It feels so fake, so half-American...so pretentious! So many people there aren't personable. The weather sucks.

Wow, that's all so negative. But I'm just trying to explain why, despite being with an absolutely wonderful family and getting paid to take care of two kids who spoke marvelous English, I was not at my happiest in Madrid. I tried to make the best of it and explore the city, to immerse myself in real castellano (as opposed to a mix of Spanish and Galician), and even to appreciate the scorching heat.

But now that I'm done there (and have been for a month now), I feel like I can just can come out and say it--being back in Galicia is truly glorious. The weather is nice and cool, the food is fantastic and cheap, the people are friendly, and I just feel like I'm back home. I love Galicia and I'm not shy about shouting it from the rooftops!

Who wouldn't love a place like this?? It has everything!

Beautiful beaches--the water on the Islas Cíes was so blue it looked fake

Great views and the ocean to boot

Interesting geological phenomena like la Playa de las Catedrales

Mountains and rivers and great places to go hiking

Famous historical sites like the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela

Interesting musical heritage (bagpipes are cool, just like bowties)

Great food and wine, which also happens to be inexpensive

An interesting language that is not Spanish but still mostly comprehensible (unlike *ahem* Basque)

And last but not least, Celta de Vigo, a newly first-division fútbol team! (photo by the awesome Xose)

So, if you haven't been here, come! If you have, then you know exactly what I'm talking about. Que viva Galicia!

Past Travels Tuesday: Stockholm, Sweden

Past Travels are a feature I'm going to do occasionally on this blog, talking about vacations I've taken in the past that I really liked and maybe giving some travel tips. 

This week's Past Travels are of a very recent vacation, from back in May, that I *ahem* neglected to blog about at the time. A friend and I had been talking all year about how we'd both visited Norway and loved it, and how we'd like to see another Nordic country to compare them. So after much talk and little action, initiative was finally taken in May and Ryanair tickets were booked to Stockholm Skavsta for me, my friend and her boyfriend. (Many thanks to the person who actually did all the legwork for this, bought the tickets, fought with Ryanair to get the undue administrative fee charged to us back, AND managed to find us an amazing CouchSurfing host. Cheers, you are awesome!)

I really like the Swedish flag--the colors are so bright and cheery!

 After a lovely snafu with a strike by Porto's airport workers causing our first flight to be cancelled and the last-minute purchase of some overnight bus tickets to Madrid, we were on our way. A quick walk around the city center and breakfast at a cute café in Chueca proved to be all we had time for there, before we had to get to the airport to catch the plane to Sweden. A 3-hour plane ride and 1-hour Ryanair airport bus ride later, we were in downtown Stockholm, meeting up with our very sweet CouchSurfing host, who took us to her house, made us dinner (curry!), introduced us to her adorable kitty Selma, and let us crash after a long day of traveling.

You can sort of see here how the whole town is build on many small islands, as I mention below.

So basically my first images of Sweden came from looking out a plane and then a bus window. As we were landing at the airport, I was immediately struck by the hundreds of little islands dotting the coastline. It looked like we were about to land in some kind of marsh! Extremely beautiful, though. Then, as we were rolling on down the highway on the bus, I looked out the window and felt like I was back in a flatter version of Wisconsin. I very much enjoyed seeing the many long red barns popping up in the countryside; it felt like home.

I apologize for the quality of this photo, aka the reflection of me in the glass--normally I hate out-the-bus-window photos, but  there was no other way to capture the red barns!!

The next day was our big tourism day. We got up (relatively) early and hit the city. My friend's boyfriend had been before, so he played tour guide for a while, showing us the river and some buildings. Then we went to the old town (Gamla Stan) to check out what it had to offer.

Europe's smallest street

We saw Europe's smallest street (above) and wandered into many tourist shops, much to the annoyance of the man of the group. Then we went to the royal palace (below), which was honestly kind of a letdown. Apparently, a few hundred years ago much of the palace burned to the ground, and what's left is kind of ugly and not very impressive. Also part of the building was closed off to visitors because of some royal function. Darn those royals, trying to live their lives in their palaces and have some semblance of privacy!! Luckily, because my mom always taught me to try to get a deal whenever possible, the people selling the tickets believed that we were "students" and let us in for next to nothing.  So not a total loss. 

The ugly royal palace

The rest of the day, we mostly just wandered around. We discovered that the Swedes are apparently as obsessed with tulips as the Dutch, that Swedish coffee (and customer service) sucks, and that Sweden (shockingly) is cold!

Tulips tulips everywhere

After another ethnic dinner, the trying of some fish paste, a Swedish history lesson, and good night's sleep, we were ready to wander more the next day. We spent a long time in a park, seeing tons of joggers. The Swedish seem very devoted to staying fit. Then, because I had gotten it into my head that I needed to have some "real authentic" Swedish cuisine, we went to an overpriced touristy restaurant promising just that. The food wasn't great, and the service was truly terrible...apparently, our waitress didn't think we looked good enough to eat in such a fine establishment. Sorry about that one, guys; my bad, seriously. 

Strange sausage creature. I will say, though, that the real mustard was awesome!

Only having about 100 kroner left between the three of us (around 10 euros), we spent the rest of the time before we needed to go back to the airport looking at postcards. I played my usual "I'm in Northern Europe" game where I try to see how long I can fool cashiers into thinking that I'm a native of the country I'm in. It works pretty well; my height, blonde hair and blue eyes are a great Northern European disguise. So all I have to do is walk up, say hello in the native language (hej in Swedish), look at the cash register to see how much I need to pay, and then say thanks in the language as well (in Swedish, tack) and leave. If this whole interaction happens without the cashier switching to English on me, I win.

All bundled up. I think the warmest it was there was about 15º C, or 60º F. We tried to keep warm by having coffee, but it was watery and awful (American, basically...I'm such a European coffee snob) and the man seemed angry that he had to serve us. 

The last thing to do was to catch the bus back to the airport and fly off to Milan, where we had a layover on the way back to Porto, then back home to Vigo! 

Overall, Sweden seems like a nice enough place. We weren't there for very long, but we met a few very nice people and saw some sights. My overall impression is of a very clean and organized place. However, it's cold and customer service is crap (which was surprising to me, this was not what stereotypes had led me to believe would be true), and the historical sights on offer in Stockholm are not that impressive. Compared to Norway, Sweden seems less pretty and less friendly. However, I did spend way more time in Norway and visited lots of stuff outside the capital city. Plus I'm biased because my family has Norwegian heritage and I've grown up my whole life hearing about how Norway is the motherland, Norwegians never fail, and the Swedish suck. I think I'd definitely go back to Sweden, but I'd much prefer to visit some more rural areas, particularly in the north, to see if I could get more of a real vibe for the place instead of returning to Stockholm. Still, it was definitely worth my €60 forked over to Ryanair to get to see another European capital city!

So there you have it, another past vacation concluded. See where I'll have already gone next time on Past Travels Tuesday!